


A Single Spark Can Start A Fire

by TheLeftHand



Category: Loki Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: ADHD, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, Breathplay, Cock Worship, Dialogue Heavy, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Evil Natasha Romanoff, Explicit Language, F/M, Gentle Sex, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Torture, King Loki (Marvel), Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Movie References, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Prostitution, Rough Sex, Sex, Spanking, Stockholm Syndrome, Swearing, Violence, Weird Plot Shit, painful memories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2018-12-26 08:33:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 92,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12055218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLeftHand/pseuds/TheLeftHand
Summary: Loki and his Chituari army have taken NYC. The Avengers have not assembled and Tony Stark is missing. Loki kidnaps a girl from Tony's favourite brothel to keep as his "bed slave".





	1. At The Cogs and Rears

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at fan-fiction, and writing, really. Show mercy, please. Some crazy shit is about to unravel in future chapters, so be warned. If you are uncomfortable with references to prostitution, drug use, rape and mental health problems, proceed with caution. I'll try to tag accordingly.

                                                                                                                      **Chapter One**

                                                                                                            At The Cogs and Rears

 

      Iskra turned to the left, where the new girl stood by her side, last in line, as the row of scantily clad women to her right kept growing more and more exasperated by the minute, and said, her lips pursed tightly "This day simply cannot get any worse."

 Earlier in the day she had agreed to take Naomi's shift for the night because the poor girl had to attend an unexpected funeral. Lately, there had been way too many unexpected funerals for anyone's liking: thousands had died in the first few days of the invasion. Things were now starting to slow down but there were still examples being made of occasional rioting groups of unruly subjects of the Midgardian Kingdom of America, as they called it now, rioting against their new ruler and his extraterrestrial army, finding it difficult to relinquish their freedom.

  _Mr D. should not have picked up the damned phone_ , Iskra shook her head in silent indignation. And when Tony's caller ID had come up, he should have known it would be a trap. She could have been home right now, she kept musing, rewatching Breaking Bad and drinking RedBull. Keeping the ball rolling, trying to stay sane, living her life as best as she could while the world burned down, figuratively and literally.

  "Is this normal?"  Jesse, the new girl, nudged her in the ribs gingerly but the growing whispering coming from the other women drowned Iskra's reply.

  "Who do you think it is?"

  "I bet it's Tony."

  "It can't be Tony." 

  "I can't wait for him to come back and kick some alien ass."

  "Don't be stupid, he's probably dead by now."

  "Not probably, most definitely."

  "But he rang, didn't he?"

  "You mean whoever has his phone now rang."

  "I'm telling you guys, he's not dead. They are keeping him in a dungeon beneath the tower...He can't be dead," said Ashley, standing to Iskra's right, stepping impatiently from one high-heeled foot to the other.

  "Remember that time we kept him in our dungeon, Suzi?"

  "I bet he does...well, did, I guess."

  "Shut up!"

  "Bet he'd remember it even from beyond the grave!"

  "Lizzie's head can raise the dead! Right, Lizzie?"

  "Oh shut up, this is serious stuff now!"

  "Guys, let's just hope it's not one of those hideous monsters!"

  "No way it is. My boyfriend saw a bunch of rebels kill one down in Chinatown. They took its armour off and left it for dead, butt naked on the street. Apparently it had no dick."

  "What do you mean "no dick"? Someone cut it off?"

  "I would've!"

  "No, you guys, it just didn't have one. It was like all segmented and scaly down there, like...like a lobster, Dave told me."

  "That's what I'm having for dinner after this shit is over and done with."

  "What, a dick?" Ashley cried out and the whole room exploded with laughter.

  "No, a lobster, you bitch!" came back the reply and more laughter ensued.

  "You know, I'd dine for real on of those things' lobsters if the price was right." Lizzie said again, with a wink. She was in her late forties (or so she claimed), her dark red lipstick in tune with her black lace mini dress and slick black boots.

  "That's fucking gross, you know!"

  "Not as gross as that fat dick that got stuck in your throat last night!" the old girl teased.

  "What, the price of not having your brains blown out while you are at it?! Those things swat people left and right like flies, we are cockroaches to them."

  " _They_ look like cockroaches."

  "You mean roaches. No cock, remember?" Lizzie said with another wink.

Now even Iskra burst out laughing and put an arm around Jesse's shoulders, who hadn't so much as cracked a smile so far and looked absolutely terrified.

  "My mum says they eat people," she uttered under her breath.

  "It doesn't happen often but it is normal," Iskra repeated the words previously lost in the ruckus, consciously ignoring the girl's disturbing statement. "Nothing to worry about. Just some rich asshole by the looks of it. Rich assholes like to feel they are in control. You know, they try to intimidate us to make themselves seem like they are the big deal. Just go along with it and pretend you are intimidated."

  "But it feels like we are pieces of meat in a butcher's shop."

 Being so grim, so late at night/early in the morning was normally Iskra's speciality, when her meds had worn off towards the end of her shift, and especially when clients ventured in ten minutes before closing time, just like the pretentious dick who was about to enter the club any minute, demanding attention. Somehow tonight she had managed to stay positive so far and stifle the burning frustration inside her by playing the teacher to the new addition and faking a sense of humour. Iskra loved taking newbies under her wing. It gave her a purpose. She had learned that the only way for her to stay happy and laid-back in any throublesome situation was to find someone more miserable than her in the room. She gained her strength in lifting other people's mood.

   "No, no and no!" Iskra reached out with her other arm, turned the new girl around so she could face her and said "Lesson number 24: You are not the commodity, you are the merchant."

 

   "Quiet!" Mr D. waved his arms around in front of the girls and immediately the whispering and laughter lessened considerably but did not stop. "You are not going to like this. I just looked at the CCTV: four aliens, heavily armed, on their way down here now. I've told the guards to put their guns down and to not do anything stupid. Same applies to you, girls - I don't want to hear a word! Let me do the talking. We'll see what the bastards want, we'll try to make them happy, and hopefully no one will die tonight."

  Silence fell across the air like the velvet blanket in the club's "bed" room, thin yet heavy, especially when brushing over one's bare ass. There were no more smiles and giggles, and Iskra thought that throughout all her years working at "The Cogs and Rears" she had never seen the place so quiet.

   "Are they going to pay us?" Lizzie's raspy voice broke the stillness.

  You had to love the woman, Iskra thought, even in the face of death her utmost concern was not dishing out freebies.

   "I don't know, the only thing they said on the phone was to have you all lined up for when they arrive. I told them you had all gone home early tonight, when that didn't work I said that most of you were indisposed, then I tried my luck in bribing them, and then...as a last resort, I offered to send a few girls up to their quarters up in the tower - with protection, of course," he elaborated when met by the girls' accusatory stares - "but they insisted on coming here in person to choose."

   "Fuck this shit, I'm going home!" Ashley said dryly and proceeded to step out of the line when Mr D."s hands landed on her shoulders and gently pushed her back.

   "Don't do anything stupid, I said. That goes for you three, over there, too," he nodded towards the hefty bouncers who were silently overlooking the whole scene from the nearest corner.  

 Iskra looked at the man in the middle and stifled a sigh. He had been secretly dating Suzi for six months. Situations like these were why the expression "Don't shit where you eat" existed, Iskra thought. _Please, don't get us all killed_ , she silently bid the man the size of a two-door Ikea wardrobe and then looked back at Suzi who was intensely staring at her lover. The crazed look in her eyes clearly showed that the young woman was on the verge of foregoing all secrecy and running into his beefy arms and plywood chest. Not that any amount of muscles, knuckledusters, handguns or in the case of Jadon, ex-boxing champion skills could of course save them should they anger the aliens.

 

   "It's easy for you to say, you are not the one who's getting fucked by a lobster tonight."

  Mr D.'s face scrunched up in a mask of perplexity at Ashley's statement and evoked a burst of short-lived laughter from the top of the queue.

   "Lizzie, it seems you might be eating shellfish tonight after all," someone noted.

  A few of them chuckled again but then Alice, a tall blonde girl in a short white dress started sobbing, her delicate hands frantically dabbing at her face, smearing mascara and snot down her cheeks. Now everyone could hear the echo of heavy-booted steps coming down the staircase.

   "I don't care, I'm going home. You can't stop me!" Ashley insisted.

   "I can't stop you but they certainly can, babe." He pointed to the direction of the stairs. "I don't like this any more than you do but if we don't comply, they'll simply kill us all. Remember what happened to Bernie's, down the road?" 

 Everyone remembered what had happened to Bernie's, down the road, of course. It was one of the most discussed daily topics at the club when the nights were shy of punters and all the girls sat at the bar, drinking coffee and vaping. The official story was that a stray missile had hit Bernie's bar and incinerated it together with the two adjacent buildings. The rumour had it that a couple of Chituari had ventured inside in search of some good old lovin' or whatever else humanoid-crab monster-aliens went searching for at 2 am on a Tuesday night, and somehow ended up dead. It was a revenge attack, no doubt about it, Mr D. had told them.

 That's when the first two scaly grey hunks entered the club. They had to duck to avoid hitting the door frame with their elaborate head-armour. Each one held a big heavy odd-looking rifle and there were various other, smaller, weapons tucked around their waistlines in a thick belt which also served as part of their clothing. To the front part of their belts, right under the blue gem every single Chitauri wore, hung a leathery loincloth. Iskra imagined that none of the girls wanted to find out what was hiding underneath. Never ever. Except for Lizzie, that was. _She's the honey badger of the escort world_ , Tony had said once. Iskra smiled at the memory. If there was anyone who could sort this mess out it was Tony. The military had failed. The president had been publicly executed, his family and office were all being held prisoner down at Washington, DC. The Chitauri had gained access to all the nuclear heads and a few important military and navy bases. Most of the East Coast and the whole of the South, except for California had been taken. And worst of all, they had captured Tony Stark. A lot of people believed that Iron Man was dead, including Iskra, but Ashley, who was hopelessly in love with the guy, even though she would never openly admit it, insisted that they had a good reason to keep him alive. _The evil bastards like to parade it to the world whenever they off someone important_ , Ashley would say. And in this she was right, so far there'd been no sign of a mangled red armour suit, let alone a body.

  Iskra's musings were swiftly interrupted when the other two Chitauri entered the bar. She involuntarily took a step back only to realise that she was somehow back in the line, perfectly in place. Apparently, everybody else had stepped back already, whilst she had been lost in her thoughts, upon seeing the tall figure the four Chitauri warriors were guarding between them. There, dressed in his full battle regalia  - gold armour, horned helmet, glowing blue sceptre and all, stood the man who had opened the hole in the sky above New York City and let the Chitauri horror in.

   "I was wrong," said Iskra more to herself than to the frightened new girl by her side. "It just did."


	2. Window Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is installment number two, guys, hope you enjoy! For those who are interested, the smut is about to commence in the next chapter.

                                                                                                              Chapter Two

                                                                                                          Window Shopping

 

    "I am Loki, of Asgard," declared the man in the armour as if there was anyone in the city who didn't already know who he was, "And I have come to this establishment to claim what is rightfully mine as the ruler of this kingdom."

   He inquisitively eyed Mr D. who looked like he had just seen a ghost. _He never saw him on the CCTV_ , Iskra thought. He must have somehow magically concealed himself from the cameras.

    "You ought to be Mr DeAngelo, landlord of this den of iniquity, I believe?"

   Mr D. was lost for words at first, staring blankly at the armoured man, then nodded quickly, and bent his head and chest down in what looked like a courtesy bow. "I am indeed. What can I do for you, Your Grace?"

   Loki gestured dismissively towards the line of women, and said without even glancing in their direction "You own these whores, do you not?"

   Ashley uttered an audible sigh of indignation, while Iskra and a few of the others only fidgeted around in silent protestation. Lizzie had her arms crossed in front of her chest and looked positively irked.

   "Forgive me, Your Grace, I don't actually own the girls," Mr D. had found something extremely interesting to look down at the floor - "they just work here."

   "It makes no difference to me. Either way, you are to relinquish possession of one of them tonight, and bestow her on to me as a gesture of good will. In return, I will spare your lives, and avert the Chituari from turning this place into a pile of dust."

  As if on cue, the four grey monstrosities let out a guttural sound of approval and pulled the slide locks on their guns down.

   "Your Grace," Mr D."s voice faltered, "if...if you are so inclined I can close down the club and the girls can entertain you and...and your...your guards all night, all day...for as long as you want, but please..."

  Loki took two long graceful steps and casually interrupted the stuttering man by placing the tip of the glowing scepter at the top middle of his chest, right where his heart, no doubt racing to the point of a near heart-attack, would be.

   "You can do this willingly or I can _make_ you do it, this, and many more dark and unspeakable things that will keep you and your whores awake at night until the day you all die. Which will most likely be sooner rather than later considering your feebleminded insolence."

  Mr D. moved his eyes to Iskra and the line of women. Anxious faces, big-eyed and pale, even under the red light, met his gaze with what he feared was hope. Their small frames had huddled together for comfort, bare arms and legs, frightened and defenceless like rabbits in the headlights of an oncoming truck.

   "I'm sorry," he whispered, then looked back at Loki and nodded. "Which one suits your taste, Your Grace?" his voice heavy with defeat.

   "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, they say, however, that is exactly what I intend on doing," he grinned. "Mr DeAngelo, would you be so kind to tell your whores to part with their garments?"

   Mr D. returned his sight to the floor, this time seemingly checking his shoes. It hurt Iskra to see him this way, it was the most unnatural thing - the man who instilled fear and respect in the underground world of NYC, who until the invasion she thought was untouchable and unfazed, even by the police, hell, some people even claimed that he had protection from the FBI, the man who always made sure no one messed with his girls, and who had offered her a hand when she most needed it and pulled her out of the swamp, had now been reduced to a snivelling servant. The fear in her heart slowly gave way to anger. She imagined running up to the armoured bastard, pulling his stupid horned helmet off his head, and smacking the stupid smirk out of his face with it.

 

    "Strip, please," Mr D. mumbled to his shoes.

    "I don't think they heard you," Loki leant into his ear and hissed "Louder."

    "Strip!" Mr D. shouted out and a few of the girls startled, including Jesse who nearly jumped out of her skin.

   Alice who had calmed down a bit, more due the shock of who had entered the club than anything else, resumed her sobbing.

    "Is he being serious?" Ashley tugged on Iskra's dress.

  Iskra looked at the hideous grey faces staring back at her and the other girls with an expression that she determined, despite the alien features, was pure hate. She looked at the cold triumphant smile on Loki's face, a face so uncannily human, despite his owner being from another world, a face she had seen many a time in the last few months, plastered all over the media outlets, a face that had demanded with astonishing arrogance and fierce determination that his newly acquired subjects prostrate and kneel in front of him because they were _insignificant mayflies_ , _plebeian ants_ , _mere mortals_ facing him, a god-like creature, a prince from a higher realm, a rightful candidate for the Earth's metaphorical throne. _You were made to_ _be ruled_ , he had said. She felt an odd mixture of emotions standing in front of him: fear, which was normal considering the atrocious acts of violence commited in plain sight by his own hand, and in his name by the Chitauri, and the even more despicable acts hidden behind closed doors people whispered about, anger, in response to that fear, and then there was the uncomfortable fluttery feeling of being completely star-struck. In a way, due to all the attention from the media, Iskra tried to rationalize, he was indeed a celebrity. She then tried to look at Mr D.'s face but all she saw was the top of his head which was resting listlessly on his chest. He looked like a broken man.

  She slowly began to rid herself of the little clothes she had on, this time around trying hard not to meet any of the eyes she had so eagerly stared at a minute ago. Instead, she concentrated on watching the other women get undressed. She noted with faint amusement that Lizzie was already in the nude. When every single piece of clothing they had was lying on the floor behind them, Loki whispered something in Mr D. ear. The club's boss lifted his head up slowly. His face was stuck in a weird expression between utter confusion and relief. He briskly walked to Iskra's end of the queue and then up to the other end, pointing at Ashley and a few other women in the meantime.

  "You, you, you and you," he said in a low voice, "are excused."

 The chosen girls did not dare move, petrified by fear and possibly wondering whether they had heard him right.

  "I said "Go!" he repeated, this time a little bit louder and then returned to his previous position.

  The three girls ran out towards the dressing room as if their life depended on it, which Iskra thought it probably did under the present circumstances, but Ashley stopped in her tracks and hesitated.

   "You, lucky bitch, go!" Iskra teased.

   "I can't just go and fucking leave you here," Ashley grabbed her arm and pleaded.

   "Yes you can, and you will, before he changes his mind or something. And say hello to Sami from me," Iskra's voice broke when she mentioned the name of her best friend's little son.

   "You say it to him yourself, tomorrow," Ashley squeezed her in a tight hug and patted her back. "What was it," she chuckled nervously, throwing a loathsome look in Loki's direction "...lesson number 10... _The biggest dicks have the smallest cocks_."

 

  And with that she was gone. Iskra busied herself with speculating what had made their captor dismiss the four women while the man himself slowly and deliberately walked along the line of naked women, stopping in front of each and every one and inspecting their curves and dips as if he was in the business of purchasing an expensive coat. 

"Get your filthy hands off her!" 

Iskra started with a jolt when she saw Jadon running towards Loki who looked up daringly at the brawny bouncer and casually held up his hand in the air while still clutching Suzi's chin with the other one. The man immediately dropped to his knees and raised his trembling hands to his throat in a futile attempt to break the invisible vice-like force squeezing the air and the life out of him. 

"Please, don't kill him'" cried Suzi, "I'll do anything you want!" 

A dead silence, created by everyone holding their breath (one person in particular having their breath held for them) and their posture incredibly still, fell across the room. 

"I volunteer as tribute!" Lizzie's raspy voice echoed as she abruptly stepped forward, breaking the line, and the palpable tension in the air with it. 

Loki's menacing expression of contempt dissolved into one of brief surprise, quickly followed by curiosity and then condescension. 

"I would have considered your offer, wench, had I not come here tonight seeking a type of entertainment which requires a certain degree of challenge, which I'm afraid, you do not possess." 

"Are you calling me easy!?" Lizzie's voice rose up with indignation. 

You could call the old girl any given insult under the sun and she'd take it as a trooper, even revel in it more often than not, but call her easy and all hell, together with the four horsemen of the Apocalypse, let loose, Iskra knew from her time spent in Lizzie's company. 

"Just who exactly do you think you are, mister?" the old gal continued, taking another step forward, her small breasts swinging formidably, her hands on her thin waist, scrawny elbows pointing upwards. 

Someone grabbed her from behind, dragged her back into the line and mercifully put a hand over her mouth. She had just gained a lifelong supply of free booze and recreational drugs as a thank you gift from the hot blooded bouncer, for saving his life, Iskra thought. 

Loki chuckled, clearly amused, then proceeded to let go of Suzi's chin and with a flick of his other hand sent Jadon, the poor man still clutching at his throat, flying towards the wall. There was a loud thud at the collision, and then another, softer one, when his unconscious body hit the floor. Suzi ran towards her boyfriend, knelt down and wrapped her arms around him, her bare back twitching in tune with her faint sobs. 

"Where were we?" Loki rubbed the palms of his hands together and resumed his window shopping. 

When he stood, tall and threatening, in front of Iskra, she found herself unwillingly trembling, the skin on her bare arms and neck breaking out in goosebumps. She clenched her teeth and tried to compose herself but failed miserably. At least it was anger making her shake like a leaf, not fear, she thought, finding a bit of comfort in the notion. Deep-buried, painful memories of helplessness and humiliation resurfaced in her mind, things that sometimes kept her awake when she wanted to sleep and made her tired when she needed to stay awake. Things she had promised herself not to experience again if she could help it. She looked straight into the green eyes ogling her exposed body and crunched her clammy hands into fists. She didn't feel so star-struck anymore, as much as she felt like striking him.   
Loki haughtily threw his head back and huffed as if he could read the murderous thoughts in her head then moved his attention to Jesse. The new girl was trembling too, Iskra noticed, albeit in conspicuous terror. Her eyes were downcast and her lips moved silently, as if she was praying. Iskra got hold of her small hand and sqeezed tightly. 

"I have made my choice," Loki boastfully announced to the room. "Consider yourself honoured to be anointed as my personal bed slave," he said to Jesse, his lips spreading out into a sinister smile. "My guards will escort you to my quarters. I advise you to surrender any attempts at resistence if you value your life." 

The new girl looked as if she had just been sentenced to death and about to be escorted to face her executioner. Silent tears ran down her cheeks in streaks, as she shut her eyes in a childish attempt to hide herself from what was happening around her. 

"Stay strong and do as he says, don't try to defy him. We'll find a way to get you out of this, I promise," whispered Iskra as the girl tentatively let go of her hand and followed Loki to where the Chitauri soldiers stood next to the door.   
His gold armour glistened and the movement of his long green cape created a little draft in the stifled air as he started walking towards the staircase when something made him stop right before the place where he needed to duck under the door frame. He lifted his forefinger up as if to silence an imaginary crowd, then slowly turned around and used said finger to point at someone in the line. 

"No," he said, "on a second thought, I think I'll have you instead." 

It took a minute and a whole lot of eyes, full of pity and concern, staring at her, for Iskra to realise she was the one Loki was pointing at.


	3. Defiance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for not keeping my promise about the smut. I am pleased with how the chapter turned out, regardless, and I truly hope that you enjoy it too. P.S. It's coming soon though! x

                                                                                                      **Chapter Three**

Defiance

 

 

      Iskra stood in Tony's "secret pleasure den", clutching the white plastic bottle of prescription pills to her bare chest like it was the last pillar of sanity in the crumbling reality around her. She had been there a few times before as one of the billionaire's "lady guests", and now she was here as Loki's prisoner. He had refused to let her gather her belongings - her day clothes and her handbag, from the club. _Slaves do not possess belongings_ , he had smirked, but nodded in agreement, to her great relief, when she pleaded for her medication; which great relief had, unfortunately, swiftly turned into great humiliation the moment Mr D. had brought her handbag from the dressing room and handed it to one of the Chitauri soldiers, who in turn had turned it upside down, laughed (if the gurgling grunt that had escaped the alien's ugly mouth could be called that), and spilled its contents all over the floor. She'd had to squat down and rummage through the pile of condoms, tampons, loose change, missmatched earings, half empty make-up containers, spare underwear, lube, candybars and empty wrappers until she had got to the little white bottle with her name printed on it.

   And then, to make sure no one mistook his good will for mercy, Loki had insisted she make the journey to Stark Tower...well, stark naked. She remembered sitting at the back of the armoured vehicle the Chitauri had come in, one at each of her sides, and imagining in what way exactly her life and whatever little was left of her chastity was about to end that night. She remembered standing in the elevator with her alien guards and counting the floors, the way a prisoner on death row would count the minutes to the implementation of his capital punishment. She remembered staring at the pasty blue-eyed woman in the wall-sized mirror on the 56th floor, refusing to believe she and _her_   were the same person. _I look like shit_ , she had thought, frowning under the unflattering fluorescent light, her usually defined limbs, strong shoulders and taut stomach now looked worryingly feeble and scrawy next to the hulking grey giants, flanking her sides.

   Glaring at Tony's former king size bed in the corner of the bright, yet windowless room, Iskra was resolved not to give any satisfaction to her captor in showing him how terrified she was, or any entertainment, for that matter - in putting up a fight she knew she could never win. _He looks like a man, how bad could it be_ , she tried to reassure herself. After all, she had fucked plenty of ugly bastards from planet Earth who looked a lot less human than the Asgardian prince. But then again, to her knowledge, none of them had been a mass murderer on a power trip to rule the world...

   The sudden clank of the fortified metal gate startled her and she dropped the pills on the floor. _Speaking of the Devil_ , Iskra thought and watched as Loki entered the room and used the electronic panel to lock the door with the ease and confidence of a long-time resident of what used to be Tony's private quarters.

   "I should say "make yourself at home" but I presume you already have. I hear that you have spent many a night in this bed, not particularly engaged in the act of sleeping," he said sardonically when he caught her looking that way, then made a start towards her.

   He had rid himself of the pompous gold armour, helmet and green cape and was now wearing his usual black leathers. She straightened her shoulders and tried to feign feeling indignant instead of intimidated, however, her body betrayed her and she took a few awkward steps back.

   "Four," she said a bit louder than she intended, "I've been here four times, only."

   "I'm somehow convinced the fith will be most memorable," Loki said and continued walking, slowly catching up to Iskra, who now had run out of steps, her back firmly pressed against the wall.

   "Are you going to kill me?"

   "Not yet," he chuckled, "I have yet to enjoy your company." He brazenly looked her naked form up and down, his gaze lingering on her heaving breasts while she unsuccessfully tried to steady her breathing. "Now, what is a good place to start? Ah, yes.. " He stopped three feet away from her and gave her an impish grin. "Kneel." he said.

   Iskra stared blankly at his smug face. His thin lips were glazed with a playful smile but there was a certain determination in his eyes, and a flash of something else she couldn't yet put her finger on, which made her blood run cold. She found herself trying hard to swallow a lump in her throat but the damned thing wouldn't budge. She had braced herself for the imminence of having to endure his sexual advances, she had also considered the prospect of staring her untimely death in the face, and resolved herself to do so with as less wimpiness as possible, but this...this had her completely unnerved and unprepared.

   One would think that practising the oldest profession, especially for as long as Iskra had been, would debase a woman, would make her pliable and weak, devoid of pride and reduced in value. In truth, it often did the exact opposite. She had grown strong and confident, she had embraced her femininity and mastered the art of self-love, she had gone so far from the little insecure girl who had once let people walk over her, use her and then discard her as if she didn't matter. She took pride in her ability to make men pay for her time, and her services, and by "becoming cheap" she had, at long due, discovered her true worth. Iskra no longer let men take advantage of her because in saying yes to hundreds of them, she had in turn learned how to say no, when it really mattered.

    "Kneel." Loki repeated, his lips a bit less curled up, his smile a bit less less frisky.

    "No." Iskra said flatly, without breaking eye contact, and took a step forward.

  The last hint of amusement left his face so fast that she wondered whether it had been there in the first place, making his expression easier to read in the process. _Cruelty_ , she put a name to the ominous glint in his eyes, with growing unease, and tried hard to deafen the words of wisdom she had not so long ago whispered to Jesse, now being played on repeat by her distressed mind, louder and louder - ... _do as he says, don't try to defy him_...

  She shook her head in a physical attempt to silence her own thoughts and welcomed the adrenaline rushing through her body like a tidal wave.

   "Kneel!" Loki not so much yelled as growled.

  The sudden surge of anger, distorting his voice and features, gave fuel to her own exasperation, and she hissed back at him in desperation and defiance, resolute not to succumb to his attempt at humiliating her, ready to pay the price if she had to, "The only time you'll ever see me on my knees in front of a man is when I have my mouth and teeth around his cock!"

  She took a sharp breath in, shut her eyes and steaded herself in anticipation of the oncoming violence. When a few seconds passed and nothing happened, she catiously opened them and encountered Loki's face inches away from her own, bathed in glorious triumph.

   "That can be arranged," he grinned and slowly walked to the big leather sofa in the middle the den. "Come, don't be shy," he sat down with his legs spread, reclined and comfortably draped his arms around the back, "I find your eagerness to please me endearing."

  Iskra found herself dumbfounded for a moment, then quickly picked herself up and followed in his steps until she stood, naked and defiant, in front of her leather-clad captor. _You can_ _do this, you're in control_ , she pep-talked herself, _Give him your best, empty his mind of his virile aggression, and his balls of...whatever he had in there_. She kept her eyes strictly locked with his, while she positioned herself between his open legs and knelt down, gripping the supple black leather which enveloped his firm thighs for support. _And then I can work on_ _squirming my way out of this mess_.

  Loki stared back at her with an expression of exultance and hunger. _Here we go_ , she thought while reaching out for the silver buckle on his belt, _let's see if Ashley's right or wrong_ , and then scolded herself, abashed, for wishing the latter.

  With a swift move Loki caught Iskra's hands middair before she managed to touch him and sqeezed tight at her wrists. She looked up at him, startled and bewildered.

  "No," he shook his head in a controlled manner and tsked with his tongue, then he stood up, his hold on her hands rendering her unable to break free from the kneeling position.

  A long streak of his black hair gently brushed past her cheek when he bent down to whisper in her ear, seemingly oblivious to her attempts to wriggle out of his grip, "See, in the end, you will always kneel."


	4. Desperation

                                                                                                                             Chapter Four

                                                                                                                              **Desperation**

 

 

   Only when the shower sprinklers hit her face, did she allow herself to cry. Iskra let the hot water wash away the remnants of her make-up, together with the trials and tribulations of the night. After he had tricked her into kneeling to him, Loki had announced he had more pressing matters to attend to, excused himself, and simply left her there, on the floor, naked; her wrists stinging, her knees still sore from the effort with which she had pressed them down to the tiles in a useless attempt to push herself up while he held her in place.

   She hated him for humiliating her, much more than she would have hated him if he had simply physically hurt her, in retaliation to her go at defying him. She was also afraid that this was only the beginning of what was unfolding to be an extremely unpleasant experience. Loki appeared to be the kind of predator that liked to play with his food before he ate it. And Iskra had never been good at playing games, especially when she had been assigned the role of the plaything.

   She came out of the shower wrapped in one of Tony's towels, the only one that had been left on the bathroom shelf, and headed straight to the big built-in mahogany wardrobe that spanned the wall on both sides, behind the bed. She knew that Stark kept a lot of his personal belongings in the den, clothes included. Iskra pulled at the sliding doors, then at the drawers, then at every single panel that she knew should open, only that in this very moment none of them would. No matter how much she exerted herself, it seemed as if the damned things had been sealed with invisible superglue. Frustrated, she threw the wet towel on the floor and banged her fists on the shiny red wood until they started throbbing, then, defeated and tired, she flung herself on the bed and buried her face in the pillows. "Bastard," she cursed. Loki had somehow tampered with the wardrobe - he clearly intended to further her humiliation by keeping her naked. _All the fucking time_. She toyed with the idea of searching for a pair of scissors or anything else sharp enough to cut the bedsheets into a makeshift dress when her exhausted mind gave in and sleep took her.  

 

   "What do you think you are doing?"

  Iskra woke up with a jolt when someone pulled the duvet off her. Still dazed, she squinted her eyes at the blinding flickers of gold, reflecting off Loki's armour.

   "Get out!"

  She made herself sit up and rubbed at her eyes, "What do you mean?!"

  Was he going to send her off on her way? Perhaps he'd found something more interesting to occupy his free time with? The prospect of hope chased away her sleepiness and she stared at him intently.

   "Whatever do you think? Get out of my bed!"

  _Or maybe not_.

   Iskra looked down at the bed and then up at the scowl on Loki's face, utterly confused. There was a deep red scratch across his cheek and strands of dishevelled hair were poking out from underneath his helmet. Surprisingly, there was also a small dent on his breastplate. He caught her staring at it and next thing she knew all of his regalia shimmered away into nothingness and he was left standing in his usual black and green leathers. The mark on his face still remained, albeit considerably less noticeable.

   "Have you been in a battle?" she couldn't help herself.

 If true, she thought, that meant a lot of people had died. Loki ignored her question and unceremoniously ordered her out of the bed again. Iskra waved her arms around in frustration, searching for the right thing to say.

   "Isn't this what you brought me here for? Isn't this what you want?!"

   "I brought you here to bed you, not share a bed with you! Now out!"

   "And where am I supposed to sleep?", Iskra snapped back.  

   "You can sleep on the floor, for what I care, as long as you keep your filthy ways away from my resting place!"

  She stood up abruptly, in demonstration of her growing indignity, grabbed the throw that was lying at the foot of the bed and marched off to the sofa. Loki dimmed the lights, using only his mind power to turn the switch dial, pedantically patted over the bed with the palms of his hands, as if he was brushing away invisible crumbs from the bedsheets, then shimmered away the top layer of his clothes and lay down on top of the duvet. He rested his forearms on top of his face for awhile, as if he was nursing a headache, then rested them down on his stomach, fingers intertwined, and from that moment on, no matter how long and hard Iskra stared at his dark shape from across the room, he appeared to lie completely still. She could swear he wasn't even breathing.

 

  She lay there, awake, trembling with anger, lost in her thoughts. Since Loki had taken her to Stark's tower she had lost all concept of time, not that her concept of time was great to begin with. Tony's den was built like a panic room, it was self-contained and sound-proof, there were no windows, and as well as the wardrobe and the electronic door Loki had also disabled the big LED television, mounted on the wall, next to the library corner. Iskra was desperate, tired, hungry and scared. But most of all pissed off. _I bet the girls think I'm already dead_ , she mused, _or at least bedridden with a severe case of "sorecuntitis"_ , none of which was true. Iskra had no idea what was happening in Loki's head and what exactly he intended to do with her. Numerous possible scenarios kept popping up in her mind, each one more depraved and more terrifying than the other. "Ï'm going insane", she whispered to herself in the twilight.

  She looked at Loki's form lying as still as a statue on the bed, and decided to just go with it. After all, what did she have to lose? She reached under the sofa where she had hidden her prescription bottle and unscrewed the lid. She popped two pills in her mouth and chewed them, scrunching her face a bit at the bitter taste. She put the lid back on, then unscrewed it again, and popped two more for good luck. _Fuck it_ , she thought, _I'll need all the courage I can get to pull this off_. She put the bottle back under the sofa, sat back and began waiting for the meds to kick in.

  After about what felt like twenty minutes she slowly stood up, trying not to make a noise. Loki stayed just as still as he had been for the last few hours while she tiptoed to the long shelf containing Tony's vast collection of books, DVDs, CDs and office files, and used two hands to lift the crude heavy metal glove off its designated place. It had belonged to his first ever Iron Man suit. He had been extremely fond of the monstrous thing and kept the hand there as a souvenir. _Tonight, it's going to resume its role as a weapon_ , Iskra thought.

  She looked down at Loki, peacefully asleep under the dim light, and clutched harder at the cold metal in her hands, trying to recall every single atrocity he had been associated with since he had come to New York, followed by his alien army. She seriously doubted that the blow would kill him, what she hoped for was to knock him out and thus disable whatever spell he had cast on the door, so she could get out. What she would do next, she wasn't entirely sure, but she had been to the tower before and knew where to go in order to get to the fire exit and the stairs. She didn't really want to think much about the Chitauri.

  Trying hard not to huff and puff from the effort, she raised the iron hand above Loki's head and aimed for his face.

 

   "For the second time today, what do you think you are doing?!"

 With reflexes and speed no human should ever possess (well, _he isn't exactly human, is he_ , she corrected herself), Loki sat up, grabbed one of her arms mid-air and put his other one around her throat. Iskra, already wound up to the breaking point like a spring, jumped, screamed and dropped the metal glove which fell down and shattered the floor tiles with an earsplitting clank. She felt a sharp pain when one of the broken pieces of tile shrapnelled her foot.

 When she failed to respond, Loki roughly pulled her in, now gripping both of her wrists together, so that her wide-eyed face rested inches from his.

  "It seems you were about to attack your just and rightful king with intent to cause grievous harm?" he asked softly.

  "No," whispered Iskra, her voice getting louder with every word, "I was about to attack my evil asshole abductor, with intent to bash his fucking brains out, all over his precious sheets!"

  Loki, taken aback for a second, blinked at her and then threw his head back, laughing loudly, while ever so lightly tightening his grip around her throat. When he collected himself and returned his eyes on her, his expression was thoroughly devoid of mirth.

   "Have you completely depleted your already inadequate abilities to reason, slave girl? Whatever did you think the outcome of this miscalculated escape plan would be?"

  Iskra kept glaring at him while trying her hardest not show how much she was struggling to breathe. She would not indulge the bastard, not even if those were her last minutes on Earth.

   "Let's say,'' he continued, ''for arguments's sake, that you succeeded in your pathetic attempt to injure me enough in order to incapacitate my magic wards on the door, and you managed to break yourself free of this chamber. What do you think would have happened when the Chitauri got hold of you?"

  His intense stare made her avert her eyes, but she quickly gathered some strength and forced them back on his.

  "They would rip you apart, limb by limb, and eat your heart first, still warm and twitching, before they consume the rest, just as I have witnessed them do countless of times before."

  "You...", Iskra gulped down and rasped breathlessly, "...lock me up here, with no food...no clothes, insult me...humiliate me...what did you expect me to do? I was desperate!" she panted.

  "I expected you to respect your king and your master, and..."

  "You are not my master!" she barked. She would have spat at him, had her mouth not been so dry.

  "Hmm, did you just say desperate?" Loki tasted the word in his mouth. "Let me tell you about desperate."

 He stood up with her throat still in his hand, thus forcing her whole body upwards so that only the tips of her toes now touched the floor.

   "Today, there was a rebellion. A few of your fellow halfwit humans had been plotting against me, not far away from here, in the little town of New Haven. They had even built themselves a little military camp. Quite quaint. When the Chitauri stumbled on it, I was called on by one of their generals to help them quash it. And we did."

  Loki was looking straight into her eyes but she knew he did not see her anymore. He saw whatever had happened earlier in the day, and whatever that was, the memories of it were now draining all the blood out of his face.

   "We killed most of the insurgents, and had the rest and their families, together with the town officials, gathered in the great hall. I brought the leader of the riot to the podium. He was very determined, very desperate, and very young," Loki briefly returned his true attention to Iskra's face, "younger than you. I got hold of his throat, just the way I am holding yours now... and I broke his neck like a dry twig. I made an example of him," he paused for a moment, as if he was preparing himself to say something unpleasant. "The Chitauri general deemed my example lacking in properly conveying the message. He suggested his army raze the town, and the hall, with everyone in it, to the ground."

  Iskra realized she had stopped breathing, even though Loki was not quite choking her yet. She felt her skin erupt in gooseflesh as Loki whispered, his breath cold on her ear, "And they did. They killed every man, every woman, every child, every infant, every living creature they got their claws on; when they were done, the place was a charred wastetland, covered in ashes and smoke, even the blood of the slaughtered, spilled over the plundered streets, had burnt to dust."

  "Now you will submit to me, or I will show you what true desperation feels like," he said through his teeth, his breath uneven.

 Iskra was glad she had taken the pills. If nothing else, at least she was not going to die as a wimp. She closed her eyes and tuned in to the sound of her pounding heart for a moment, then opened them, more resolute than ever.

   "Do it!" she said.

  Loki looked at her with suspicion, as if he didn't quite believe what he had just heard.

   "Go on! Kill me!"

   "So you would rather die?"

   "No, but what is there to live for?" she snapped back.

  He swore in a language she didn't understand, let go of her throat and pushed her onto the bed.

   "Your wits, obstinacy and impertinence match those of a child, so I shall punish you accordingly!"

  He put his arm slightly forward and opened his fingers as if he was expecting someone to place an object in there. A shimmer of golden green light swirled around his hand, and his belt, which Loki had vanished earlier in the day, appeared in it. Iskra, who was now sat on the bed in silent astonishment, pushed down with her feet and moved back, away from him, but Loki quickly grabbed her ankle, seated himself at the edge of the bed, and pulled her face-down onto his lap. She put up a fight - kicking her legs and frantically throwing her arms in the air until all her muscles momentarily spasmed, as if she had been electrocuted, and suddenly she could not move anymore.

  "You, sick fuck! What did you do to me?" she screamed.

  She screamed again, mostly due to the shock, when the strip of leather landed on her bare ass with a loud smack. After that she clenched her teeth, shut her eyes and rode the pain - it helped her stay quiet. It was a very specific type of pain - starting out as a sting, concentrated in a tight area, then quickly heating up and spreading across her skin like a blooming flower made of flames, followed by a drawn out sensation of the nerve endings all over her body firing up. With a mixture of surprise but mostly welcomed relief, Iskra realized that Loki was holding back: he could have ripped her skin open with one swipe of the belt had he wanted to. She did not know whether he was being merciful or this was part of yet another conniving trick.

  After the seventh or eigth blow, something appeared to catch his attention and he stopped. After an uncomfortably long pause in which Iskra nervously tried to anticipate his next action, Loki brought the belt, folded in half, to the top of her neck and slowly traced her spine with it until he reached all the way down to where her legs parted. She breathed in sharply and discovered that she was no longer paralysed by his magic. To her deepest horror, though, she still could not make herself move. The heat from her assaulted behind merged with that emanating from the place between her thighs where Loki now gently stroked her with the very same implement with which he had hurt her only minutes before. When she finally mustered enough physical and mental power to move, instead of pushing herself away from his lap, she found herself spreading her legs open to give him better access. It felt as if her body was betraying her brain, spitting at it and giving it the finger at the same time.

  "I see you are overflowing with desire to please me, even after I've just given you the belt. You do crave subjugation, my dear, admit it, it entices you."

  The contents, and especially the tone of his words gave her the final push and she managed to wring herself free.

  "Burn in hell! I fucking hate you!" Iskra stood in front of him and hissed.

  Loki got up and dangled the belt in front of her face. There was a noticeable wet patch on it.

 "But of course you do," he smirked.


	5. Time Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting darker.  
> For those who have seen GOT, did you notice the reference? Lol, I just had to...

                                                                                                          **Chapter Five**

                                                                                                           Time Out

 

 

    "Now have a good long think about what you have done, and how sorry you are for misbehaving so contemptuously. For when I come back, my darling pet, you will crave my company, just as eagerly as you crave my...," Loki looked down and smiled mischievously, "leather accessory."

   Iskra glared at him disdainfully, as he made a show of slowly attaching the belt back to his outer clothes which he had summoned in place.

    "And what makes you so sure that I will?"

  She crossed her arms in front of her bare breasts but quickly stepped back, alarmed, when he came to her and ran a finger down her cheek. It almost felt like a caress, but she knew better.

    "Time," he replied cryptically as he turned around and left.

 

  At first Iskra was glad that he was gone. She walked around the den, trying to open various cupboards and drawers, not looking for anything in particular. Most of them were sealed like the wardrobe, and the contents of the ones that were not did not provide her with much entertainment. She lay down on the sofa and decided to try to force herself to go back to sleep, but the four pills she had taken kept her mind alert and her body tense and she eventually gave up on it.

   The silence was starting to bother her. Whenever she was home on her own, she never let the place go quiet. She'd always have the television or her laptop on, playing one video after another, even when she was doing chores around the flat or even when reading a book. Iskra needed ambient noise to feel comfortable in her house like other people needed the thermostat set on 21 °C, or the lighting in the room set to a particular brightness, or even more than just that. She thought the best comparision would be oxygen. If the level went down to a certain level, people started to have trouble breathing and would eventually suffocate. In the same sense, she now found herself taking deeper and deeper breaths as her ears tried, unsuccessfully, to register noise, any noise, in the sound-proof room.

  She went to have a long shower, relishing the sound of the water, rushung, tumbling and tapping all over her, and vigorously scrubbed her skin clean (except for her butt cheeks, that part was too sore), then dried herself with the still damp towel, which she carefully spread over the towel rack after she was done with it this time. Tony's mini bar fridge was, to her relief, unlocked, and she snached a bottle of Evian out. She decided to ignore the alcohol (for now) and instead reached out for a can of energy drink. To her annoyance all the sodas and RedBull were the sugar-free kind.

    "For once in my life, I'd kill for a bit of sugar, and there isn't any," she said out loud and swore. Iskra tried to work out how much time had passed since the last time she ate. She counted on her fingers, whispering to herself, and doing calculations audibly until she was content that her approximation had to be closest to the truth she'd ever get: 34 hours. Her stomach was protesting painfully at the lack of food, and she was starting to feel weak. _Time_ , she heard Loki's voice in her head and shivered. A cold wave went through her body and made her hairs stand up as the realization of what he had truly meant hit her.

    "You, evil son of a bitch," she hissed. She sat on the floor and buried her face in her hands. She wanted to cry, perhaps even wail, anything to relieve the overwhelming anxiety suffocating her and tying up knots in her insides, but nothing came up, not a single welp. Her eyes and mouth were unpleasantly dry. She opened the bottled water and drank greedily until she finished it. At first it felt good, then a stabbing pain in her stomach made her run for the bathroom.

    "Great," she said as she barely made it, "fucking great!" She held her hands tight on her belly as she waited for the pain to dissipate and wondered how long she could hold onto her sanity before Loki returned. She imagined him coming back eventually to find her wasted away and dead, sat on the toilet, as she was now, covered in her own shit. She burst out laughing at the conjured up image and had to hold on to the nearby sink to keep herself from falling off. The tiled walls reverberated the sound and almost made it seem like there was someone else in there with her, also laughing. She shuddered at the thought.

    After another shower, Iskra went to the entertainment area of Tony's den, on the other part of the massive L-shaped leather sofa, where the book shelf was, together with the TV-set and hi-fi system. Since none of them worked, she concentrated on the books. Earlier she had noticed that there was a pile of them on the coffee table so she busied herself with finding out what Loki had been reading. The one on top was called _The Art of War_ by Sun Tzu.

    "Fitting", Iskra whispered. She now prefered to express her thoughts out loud because the sound of her own voice was a welcome deterrent to the ever-engulfing silence. On the cover of the book underneath, Charlie Chaplin, dressed as Hitler was holding the globe above his head, _The Age of Extremes, 1914-1991_ , she read the title out loud. The next book was  _The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_.

    "What the hell," she snorted, "is he trying to study us as well as rule us?" She looked at a little black book with an old guy's face on it called _On Liberty_ and laughed out loud. She knew the names of the authors of the last three books, although, she had never read their works: Marcus Aurelius, Rene Descartes and Friedrich Nietzsche. "I should have paid more attention at school," she said and chuckled at the word "attention". She grabbed Nietzsche's book, opened it at a random page and read out, "Watch them clamber, these swift monkeys! They clamber over one another and thus drag one another into the mud and the depth. They all want to get to the throne: that is their madness - as if happiness sat on the throne. Often, mud sits on the throne - and often the throne also on mud. Mad they all appear to me, clambering monkeys and overardent. Foul smells their idol, the cold monster: foul, they smell to me altogether, these idolators." Iskra wondered, amused, if Loki had got to that part.

    Conflicting thoughts ran through her head. She remembered his tale about what had happened to the people of New Haven. Was it possible that there was more to him than a mass-murdering power-hungry psycopath? She was dying to know what was being said in the media about the quashing of the rebellion. "Perhaps he lied to me. Perhaps he ordered the destruction of the town himself. But why would he lie to me, he's not trying to impress me or make me like him, he sees me as his slave-whore, for fuck's sake?" She bet that's what all the headlines read, though:  _Loki razes New Haven to the ground_. _Hundred thousand people burnt alive, babies included_.  _Chitauri barbecuing a town under Loki's command_. Iskra frenziedly shook her head when images of aliens ripping people apart and roasting their bloody bits over the fire filled her mind.

   "I'm going fucking insane," she stated in a matter-of-fact voice. But she was still alive, wasn't she? And in one piece? Yes, he was an absolute dick for kidnapping her, humiliating her and threatening her, but he hadn't yet hurt her (the belt fiasco she had grouped under humiliation), raped her (long ago she had promised to never "let herself get raped again", so she had decided to do whatever he wanted "willingly", unless it was something absolutely vile and physically damaging, which in turn meant that he was still capable of raping her if he wanted to) or killed her (even when she literally told him to do so).

   "Stop making excuses for him, what the fuck is wrong with you?" she told herself off. "This is exactly the game he's playing: he's going to treat you like shit, then he's going to be nice for a while, then treat you like shit again, then be nice once more, until you lose all ability to reason and turn all Reek-mode and Stockholm syndrome on him."

   Tears welled up in her eyes, she threw the book on the floor and hugged her knees. "You are not getting alive out of this, you know that, right?" she muttered.

   "Does it really matter?" she shouted back at herself, "No one is getting alive out of this. At least I got a bit of _time_." Something that the people of New Haven, and the thousands who had died before them could not say. She laughed bitterly. Iskra never thought she would get caught in a war, an inter-species war at that, in her lifetime.

   Lost in thoughts of dead children, war crimes and burning cities, she fell asleep.

 

 

    "At least he didn't leave me in the dark," she whispered breathlessly, still panting from the nightmare that had woken her up with a scream. "I still hate his guts though!" she reassured herself and got up to walk around the room and establish that she was alone indeed, that there no monsters in the shadows. However, the sudden movement brought little bright dots in her field of vision, and she faltered. Iskra felt incredibly cold despite sweating profusely, her breathing was shallow and almost in tune with her galloping heart. She knew exactly what that meant from the olden days when she used to abuse food and starve herself. She reached for the fleecy throw with a shaking hand and wrapped herself up as best as she could, then lay back down to wait for her blood sugar to stabilize.

   Iskra tried to go back to sleep but the hunger pangs would not let her. Despite her stomach, and her whole system, after the episode in the toilet, being completely empty, she was suddenly overwhelmed by nausea and had to use all her will power, digging her fingers painfully down into the leather seat underneath, in order to repress the urge to wretch. She felt so utterly helpless, defeated and pathetic, and worst of all she ackowledged with contempt that had Loki returned in this very moment in time and held out a caring hand to her and a plate of food under her nose, she would have knelt to him. Hell, she would have done pretty much anything at this point.

  _Clunk_

   The sudden noise made her jump and she nearly fell off the sofa. She desperately tried to locate the source of it. Then again:

  _Clunk_

   This time she nearly screamed. "Get a grip, you whiny bitch, there's no one here!" Iskra warily got up trying her best to look around in every direction. Perhaps it was the shower? No, the sound was heavy, almost metalic. The rush of adrenaline chased off her queasiness and strengthened her limbs.

  _Clunk clunk_  

   It almost sounded as if it came from inside the sealed wardrobe. Still covered in the blanket, she ran to the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

    "I am losing it," she whispered. "This room is sound-proof, no one can get in, the silence is making me hear things." What did they call it, sensory deprivation? She knew it could lead to hallucinations. _That's what this is, an auditory hallucination_.

    _Clunk clunk scratch_

   The noise was at the other side of the bathroom door now. Iskra screamed and pushed her back at it as hard as she could. Her high-pitched voice echoed off the walls and assaulted her ears. It felt good! She screamed again, desperately, angrily, pouring all her fear and despair out of her lungs and into the air until she could scream no more and exhaustion forced her down to the floor, her back still boarding the door shut.

   She stayed like that for a long time, she had no idea how long, but at some point she no could no longer feel her legs and her backside had gone numb. She didn't dare move even though the noise outside had now been gone for what felt like hours.

   " _I see a red door and I want it painted black_ ," she sang in a low voice, completely out of tune,

   " _No colours anymore, I want them to turn black_ ,

    _I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes_..."

   Iskra was adamant to fend the terrifying silence off one way or another, until she fell asleep again or lost consciousness or Mr King of All Pricks came back,

   "... _I have to turn my head until my darkness goes_..."

 

   She sang, mumbled and recited the lyrics of every single song she knew, in English, and in her own language, sometimes dozing off on the cold bathroom floor, then waking up with a jolt to continue her quiet incantations against the dark side of her subconscious, half-awake, half-asleep and wholeheartedly resolved to survive.

 

   And that's how Loki found her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song featured is Paint It Black by The Rolling Stones


	6. Hungry Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we have a bit of smut happening.  
> I am sorry for taking such a long time to update but I have to navigate writing this around my kids and my husband, which proves exceptionally trying at times lol  
> Hope you enjoy!

                                                                                                        **Chapter Six**

                                                                                                      Hungry Work

 

     Iskra closed her eyes and rested her back on the door. She was weary, confused and everything hurt her, especially her throat. She had just finished singing the lyrics to Mika's _Happy_ _Ending_  (or at least what she remembered of them - it had been a long time since she used to drink herself silly while playing it on repeat).

     "Please, don't ever do that again," Loki said in a silky, yet scornful voice.

    She opened her eyes and neither gasped nor flinched at the sight of his imposing figure looking down at her, too tired to startle or wonder how he had entered the bathroom.

     "Do what?" she queried.

     "Sing. That was simply abysmal."

     "How long have you been watching me?"

     "Listening to you," he corrected her. "Long enough to warrant the need to interfere and put an end to it."

  She chortled. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was still trying to figure out whether he was really there of if she was hallucinating again, this time visually.

     "How did you get in here?" she turned her head to the side and looked behind her shoulder at the door.

  She wanted to be angry at him, shout curses at him and hate him but in reality, she was glad, nearly euphoric actually, to no longer be alone.

     "I have my ways," he grinned and offered her his hand, "Rise up and join me at the table. Dinner is served."   

  Iskra eyed him up suspiciously but the prospect of finally putting some food down her tormented stomach overrode the flashing danger sign in her head and she grabbed his hand, taken aback by the coldness of his smooth skin. Loki pulled her up with ease, leaving the blanket behind, and marched her back into the den. There, next to the sofa, was a little solid oak table, covered with a beautiful white cloth and a matching set of chairs, which had not been there before.

  Loki brusquely walked to one of the chairs, pulled it out a bit farther from the table than he should have and sat down with his legs apart. Iskra looked at him puzzled, then looked at the empty table, then looked back at him with eyes narrowed in silent accusation. He was obviously playing some cruel trick on her because she could smell, no, she could almost taste the intoxicating aroma of cooked food, roasted chicken in particular, floating in the air. Her mouth watered.

    "Where is it?"

    "Where is what?" he teased.

    "Dinner," she barely spoke the word out loud, bracing herself for yet another humiliation.

    "Why, it's right here, can't you see it?" he smirked and glanced down at his lap suggestively.

 

    _Right_ , she rolled her eyes at him and approached tentatively. She should have known he wasn't just going to let her eat without making her work for it first, and she was too tired, too hungry and too fed up to object. _You piece of shit_ , she thought as she knelt down in front of him and roughly grabbed at his belt, grappling with the silver buckle, _I hope you die in your_ _sleep._  

   The damned thing wouldn't budge no matter the angle or how hard she pulled at it. Her fingers trembled in apprehension: she was afraid that he was about to once more shake his finger at her face and leave her kneeling on the floor thoroughly humiliated. Exasperated, she looked up to his face for help. He smirked at her but then kindly proceeded to undo the buckle with a swift flick of his finger and pull the whole belt out of the waist of his trousers. Iskra's muscles tensed at the sight of it in his hands, the memory of its painful licks still glowing on her skin, and against all good reason a warm and tingling sensation woke up in her lower belly, deeper and hungrier than before. This time around, however, Loki dropped the belt to the floor and slumped down the chair in a bid to make himself more comfortable, spreadng his legs even wider around her. The tight black leather they were snuggly covered in outlined his growing excitement in a way that left little to the imagination. Iskra quickly untied the laces at the front of his trousers and freed his manhood with a skillful hand. Yes, Ashley had been wrong indeed - it appeared Loki was the one _big_ exception to rule.

    "I'll need a glass of water for this," she said in a straightforward voice.

   Loki stretched his thin lips in a sly smile and reached out towards the empty table where in the midst of a little swirling cloud of gold and green light, a tumbler appeared in his hand. He passed it on to Iskra and watched intently as she took a few timid sips. She didn't want to make her stomach upset again, especially in this delicate situation. She allowed herself another sip before she placed the glass down on the floor and leaned into Loki's lap.

   She expected him to take full control and more or less be brutal in his actions and inconsiderate towards her limitations; she expected him to make her gag and cry and wince just so he could appease that cruel streak of his and that twisted sense of fun.

   To her great surprise he did nothing of the sort. He breathed in sharply through his teeth when Iskra's tongue first made contact with the silky smooth tip of his cock, and gripped the edge of the chair as she slowly worked her lips all the way down, gliding them expertly until his erection felt entirely taut and solid underneath her fingers. She kept teasing him by taking him in slowly, inch by inch, only to push him out again, and then quickly swallow him back in but only half way down, repeating the process over and over, until she pulled away completely, leaving him throbbing and yearning to return into the hot embrace of her mouth.

   With one hand Iskra cleared her face of her unruly hair by bunching it up in a ponytail and twisting it, so that it could stay in place for longer, while using the other one to cup and gently massage his balls. Loki kept watching her every move, through deep uneven breaths, his facial expression stuck somewhere between contentment and dismay. He clearly hadn't expected this, which in turn spurred Iskra on. She stretched her neck, stuck her chin up and with one quick dip of her head took the whole of his length down her throat. She kept immobile for a minute until he looked down at her with a painful longing in his eyes and then started rocking her body, back and forth, while supporting her weight with both hands on his knees. Breathing rhythmically through her nose, she lost herself in the rhythm, and concentrated all her energy on suppressing what little gag reflex she had. It was nearly impossible for anything to trigger it but given Loki's size and her upset stomach, she didn't want to risk it. She wanted to give it her best and make the best of it, because she thought, even though Loki held the upper hand by bringing her here against her will and locking her up, in this brief moment in time, the roles were reversed: he was at her mercy, and he was her prisoner.

   She knew he was close when he could no longer control his breathing, his eratic inhales and exhales interrupted by soft gasps and moans. Iskra pushed his cock out so that only the swollen head remained in her mouth and wrapped her tongue around it, sucking hard and deep, and firmly grabbed the shaft with her hand, the other one still fondling the round softness underneath. She slid her fingers up and down, quickly, his skin wet and slippery with her saliva, while at the same time moving her wrist in circular manner. Loki threw his head back, lost in the sweet sensation of his relief, and finally buried his hands in her hair and held her in place while she accepted his seed in her mouth. She took all of it without objection, relishing the unexpected coldness of it which soothed her burning throat.

   He withdrew slowly, eyes shut, and rested there for a minute, sat on the chair, with his legs still spread open and his hands softly rubbing the place on his leather clad knees where her own hands had only just been moments ago. Iskra wiped her mounth and tried to get up but with the excitement now quickly ebbing away from her body, she had nothing to hold on to anymore, so she slumped back to the floor as her knees faltered and the room filled up with miniature dancing stars.

  Loki opened his eyes and stood from the chair, his trousers done up and his face back to his usual smug and haughty expression. Iskra had never seen anyone change their demeanour with such lightning speed.

  "I have to admit, I am left astounded by your commitment to please your lord and master, little slave. One would presume that after a long fast you would prefer the taste of roast dinner to that of my lustly emissions, however, I am in no way complaining. Suit yourself."

  Iskra blinked at his sneer and followed his outstretched arm pointing towards the table. Had her eyes played a trick on her earlier? Or had he played a trick on her eyes? Her nose hadn't lied though, that was for sure. Whatever the truth, the image of the table, now heavily adorned with food, wine, cutlery and a goddamned silver candelabra took her by surprise and filled her with both happiness and heartwrenching anguish. There she was, sprawled on the floor, thinking that she had somehow triumphed over him by sucking his dick, only to be played and made a fool once more.

  "And you go fuck yourself, you evil son of a bitch," she hissed.

  "Now, now, where are your table manners?"

  She tried to steady her whirling head and stand up but her legs felt incredibly heavy and kept pulling her down. She looked up at him hovering above her, twinkling green eyes and a devious grin, his head cocked to one side, mocking her, and... burst out laughing. It was one of those giggle-at-a-funeral moments, only cranked up to the max. Her whole body shook while she slapped her hands on her naked thighs, unable to control herself. It was a raw, animalistic reaction of releasing the tension building up inside her the last few days and now the flood gates had been busted. The more she heard the sound of her own guffawing, the more it made her laugh, and the more she took in Loki's stupefied expression of utter confusion, the more she thought she would never be able to compose herself and stop laughing. That was until, as quckly and unexpectedly as one slips and falls down backwards on an icy road, her roaring snorts transformed into howling sobs. She struggled to breathe through the wretched noise of her yelps and she pressed a hand to her shuddering breasts in a failed attempt to comfort herself. 

  She glanced at Loki's face expecting to see him gloating over her mental breakdown, revelling in her misery and despair, and for the second time that day was surprised by his reaction. He looked genuinely concerned. Seeing the worry hidden beneath his scrunched up eye brows and in the tightness of his lips shocked her out of her little brush with insanity, and slowly but surely she managed to reinstate some control over her breathing, despite not being yet able to stop crying.

  "What in Hel's name is the matter with you? Has the lack of sustenance muddled your feeble mind?"

   His voice was cold and stern but his eyes were fixed on her with the fervent manner of a worried parent just having witnessed their unruly child tumble down the stairs. 

  "Take my hand," he commanded and when Iskra didn't comply he bent down and abruptly grabbed her by the hand, pulling her up with him. "Cease this infantile tantrum of yours at once and come have dinner with me, you need to eat."

   He turned around to walk to the table still holding Iskra's hand, when she let herself go and ended up on the floor again. She looked up at him, her red cheeks wet with tears, her eyes burning with anger and defiance.

  "Whatever now?" he said sharply but there was something else other than anger in his face, something deep and unsettling, it almost looked like...

 _No, it can't be fear_ , thought Iskra. What could possibly put fear in Loki, of Asgard, the conquerer and now king of New York and half the country, the commander of the Chitauri army, he who had deemed himself akin to a god?

  "I can't have dinner with you like that."

  "Like what?" he said, utterly clueless and exasperated.

  "Like that," she looked down at her pale body. "I'd fucking starve than bear another humiliation," she said stubbornly and crossed her arms. I'm losing my fucking mind, she thought, staring at the fancy plates, silverware, handkerchieves and burning candles. He had made his alien guard spill the contents of her handbag on the floor in front of everyone, marched her out of the club and into Stark Tower butt naked, locked her up, threatened her, insulted her, pranked her, smacked her ass with his belt, left her alone and famished in the terrible silence for two days, and only just had her swallow his come before he'd let her eat anything else, and yet, somehow the sight of the posh dinner table dulled everything else in comparison. In her exhausted mind and warped sense of reality having to eat naked in front of Loki surmounted every other humiliation she had endured so far and she deemed it insufferable.

  "Fine", he snapped, and muttered something incomprehensible under his breath, no doubt a juicy Asgardian curse. "Perhaps this will rekindle your appetite."

  He grabbed both her hands this time and Iskra awkwardly stumbled and had to lean onto him for support when he pulled her up. The eerie expression had left his face, making room for a smug half-smile and an impish spark in his eyes. Iskra startled, suddenly overcome by an odd electrifying sensation when his clothes shimmered out of existence amongst the golden-speckled green light of his magic. She looked down, dazed, and wondered at the intricate pattern of shadows the flames of the candles cast on their naked skin. 

 

 

 


	7. Dinner, Bath And Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, guys! I have made this chapter longer, so hopefully the wait was worth it ")

                                                                                              **Chapter Seven**

                                                                                          Dinner, Bath And Bed

 

    "Why me?" Iskra asked while trying to steady the knife in her trembling fingers, cutting the piece of chicken on her plate into bite-sized bits.

   They had been eating in silence for the last ten minutes and she simply couldn't keep quiet any longer. She knew she needed to wait at least an hour for the first nutrients to reach her blood, raise her blood sugar and make her damned hands stop shaking. She also knew she needed to pace herself if she wanted to keep any of the food down.

   Opposite her, Loki sat upright with his wrists lightly touching the edge of the table, a silver fork in one hand and a knife in the other. He ate slowly, deliberately, operating the cutlery with skill and grace, reserved only for people of the aristocracy, Iskra thought, just like that documentary about European royalty she had once watched before the invasion. She tried not to stare at his chest and the way the muscles in his lean shoulders rose and dipped underneath his smooth, bare skin whenever he used the knife. Apparently, being naked at the dinner table did not faze him at all.

   When Loki had first got rid of his clothes, pulling her up and into his arms at the same time, Iskra had thought, not without a certain degree of anticipation, that he'd carry her to the bed and have his wicked way with her. She felt positively ashamed, bordering on repulsed, at herself, for being aroused when she had felt the little hairs on his thighs tickle her skin and his semi-hard cock brush past her hipbone. Holding her wrists a bit too hard, he had made sure she was steady on her feet and walked her to her chair, which he had chivalrously pulled out for her, and then pushed in, once she was sat down. Then he had offered her red wine, which she had declined, excusing herself by claiming that she didn't want to drink it on an empty stomach. The truth was, however, that she had been afraid. She could do petfectly fine with no wine at all, but what she knew she couldn't do was stop at one glass only. Loki had poured her cold water instead, and now, taking a sip from her glass, she sat staring at him challengingly, having regained some of her courage.

  Iskra repeated her question and sipped from the water again, slowly, clasping the cold sweaty glass for comfort, while Loki leisurely swirled the wine in his, gracefully holding the bowl in between his fingers, eyes set on hers in reciprocal opposition.

   "Something you did back at the whorehouse," Iskra winced at the word, "piqued my interest. That's why I chose you."

   "And what was that?" she tried to play back the scene in her head as accurately as she could but nothing of particular importance came to her.

   "You quivered."

   "So? We all did, you stripped us naked for fuck's sake, in front of your alien thugs. We thought we were done for."

   "See," Loki leaned in closer to the table and put the wine glass down, "fear does not excite me anymore. I've had my fill. Since I conquered this measly island and then half of your kingdom, I have been bathing in your people's fear. I see it in the faces of the mindless crowds outside, trudging along through their abject existence, scrambling for survival in this wretched realm. I see it in the eyes of those who revolt against my rightful rule before I extinguish their light, I see it in the fawning and wheedling of those whom I have spared in exchange for their servitude." He was now whispering, his face too close to hers for comfort over the small table. "I've heard it in the gasps and groans of the whores I've ravished."

  Iskra gulped, trying her hardest not to break eye contact and thus show him her own fear.

  "And just as I expected I saw it in your fellow harlots' trembling limbs and terror-stricken eyes...Except for a slightly intriguing pair amongst you: the decrepit one who was willing to throw herself at me, and you."

  "You are wrong," Iskra muttered under her breath, absent-mindedly imagining Lizzie's reaction at being referred to as "decrepit",  "I was scared too."

  " _You_ are a very bad liar. So, allow me give you a piece of advice of the utmost importance -," Loki's face stretched in a menacing, slightly crazy-looking grin, "never lie to me again."

  He didn't need to include "or else", the sound of his voice was a fairly good indication of the scale of threat contained in his statement. He then retreated, leant back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair as if to check it was still slicked back in place.

  "You quivered in anger," he elaborated.

  Iskra knew her face was an open book. He must have noticed her murderous expression back in the club. _If looks could kill, hey_...

   "So you picked me to torment the anger out of me? It's all a game to you, isn't? Kill and torture for fun? People's lives mean nothing to you."

   "And why should they? You are all beneath me. Do you value the lives of the ants you step on every day on your way to work?" He looked down towards her plate, "Did you value the life of the fowl you are now eating? Do you care how it died, whether it suffered?"

   "I-I...," Iskra stammered, her brows curled painfully, "I don't go out of my way to harm the lesser creatures. Some die because of accident, others as a necessity but..." She paused, and put her fork down with a clink, hit hard by the cold revelation of her own words and suddenly put off by the pale remnant of the chicken carcass in front of her.

  Loki smirked at her, and to further his point, took a forkful of meat to his mouth, and made a show of enjoying eating and chewing it: he smacked and licked his lips, moaning in approval of the taste, and then gently dabbed at his mouth with the napkin.

 Suddenly, brought on by his predatory display, images of Loki "extinguishing the light" of the young insurgent leader of the revolt in the New Haven city hall, crowded with people, unknowingly waiting to be ravaged by the Chitauri, flooded Iskra's mind and she had to look away and stifle an urge to dry heave.

   "Ah, Midgardians and their infamous hipocrisy. Never fails to entertain me."

   "Why did it bother you then?" she nearly shouted at him, wiping at the traitorous moisture pooling at the corner of her eyes.

  It was true though, it had bothered him, she was sure of it: she had sensed it in his ever-so-slightly faltering voice when he had told her about the destruction the aliens had wreaked, she had seen it in the haunted vacancy of his eyes when recalling the blood of the slaughtered being burnt to dust.

  Loki's face hardened, the flames of the candles ominously burning back at her from the glistening green darkness underneath his squinting eyelids.

   "It bothered me," he spat the word out, as if it dirtied his mouth with its bawdiness, "because I came here to be the revered ruler of a kingdom, not the mere warden of a cemetery. Loyal as they are, rotting corpses and heaps of blackened ash do make for a sad state of affairs as worshippers and devotees."

  Before Iskra could put together a meaningful reply he pushed on the table, finished his wine in one gulp, stood up and beckoned her to do the same.

   "Tedious conversations disrupt my appetite," he said, "and so does your stench. You are in dire need of a wash."

  She visibly flinched at the insult, and gloating in his petty victory, the smile returned to Loki's face.

  Mortified, Iskra got up and reluctantly followed him to the bathroom, her face flushed red with indignation and hurt. Part of her knew that he had only said it to upset her feelings in revenge for asking him an uncomfortable question, and to weasel his way out of having to explain his evil ways; and yet another part of her, bigger, and as it seemed in that moment, more dominant, painfully dug its talons into her self-confidence, scratching and clawing its way down to where her insecurities, self-loathing and shame had been hiding undisturbed for many years. Self-conscious and unwitting, Iskra tried to unconspicuously smell herself to check if he was right. She quickly scolded herself for falling for his stupid games, but it was too late - the damage had been done, and she could no longer supress her tears.

  Loki turned the shower on and walked under the falling water with a blissful expression on his face. The shower booth was spacious enough to accomodate at least two people (Iskra had once been one of five holed up inside when she had accompanied Ashley to Tony's post-birthday party private celebration) and the shower head mounted at the top of it was big and square, creating the effect of rain, or even a small waterfall. She was standing outside, watching him, unsure of what to do next, when Loki grabbed her hand and pulled her under the water. She screamed and jumped out, eyes wide, her half-wet hair splattered all over her face.

   "Whatever is the matter now, wench? Do tell," he frowned at her in confusion.

   "'the fuck is wrong is wrong you?! It's freezing cold!" her teeth chattered.

  Loki scrunched up his mouth in distaste as if he had just been reminded of some trivial but nonetheless annoying matter, and proceeded to toy with the chrome dial on the wall for a while, then took Iskra's hand again and she unadvertedly braced herself for another freezing lash to her skin before being caressed by the now pleasantly warm precipitation. Trying to ignore the proximity of his naked body, she grabbed some soap from the vast array of toiletries Stark kept at hand, and started washing herself, vigorously rubbing at her skin. She had stopped crying, mostly due the shock encounter with the icy water, and now she was afraid that should she be forced to endure the arrogant smirk on Loki's face a minute longer, her tears would return with double vengeance, so she turned her back on him.

   "Are you sulking?" he teased her gleefully.

  She pretended she didn't hear him.

   "Blame the Norns for spinning a faulty thread of your fate," he put a cold hand on her shoulder, "the short and frayed twine of humanity - cursed with a weak body, headed for the grave, whilst gifted with a weak mind, set on immortality."

  Iskra stood still as he slowly trailed a finger down her spine, as he spoke, his condenscending words draped in silk.

   "You delude yourselves with grandiose illusions of self-importance while in the meantime every breath you take brings you closer to your untimely demise, burning away and eating at your decaying bodies," he placed his other hand just above the curve of Iskra's hips, whilst his trailing finger moved all the way down to her tail bone, "...the way a candle made of unfiltered tallow burns quickly and greedily, and leaves behind an unsightly mess, and a foul smell."

  He cupped her rear and pulled her roughly towards him and she jumped when her lower back collided with the hardness of his erection.

   "Turn around," Loki whispered.

  He placed his thumb on her lips when she did, and pulled down at her lower lip, exposing her teeth, before using it to lift up her chin towards his face. It caused water to get into her eyes, so she closed them, but didn't try to move her head back down. Conflicting thoughts battled in her mind, there was guilt at the growing heat between her legs and anger at herself, at him, at everything and everybody that had led to her being led away by Loki and turned into his prisoner and plaything. She argued with herself that his touch should make her recoil in fear and repulsion at what he had done - the hundreds of people he had murdered with these exact hands, these hands now sliding down her neck and moving onto her breasts, gently kneading and pulling at her skin. She should hate him for insulting her, demeaning her, humiliating her...She gasped when he pinched her nipples, sending a mixed signal of pain and pleasure to her nerves which in turn responded by tightening her pelvic muscles and radiating sweet tingles away from her core.

  She opened her eyes and put her hands on top of his, in a gesture of silent protest.

   "It's your turn to come undone before me," he said, eyes smoldering, thin lips mischievously curled up, "by your own hands," and let go of her nips.

  Iskra looked at him blankly and raised an eye brow in confusion.

   "Pleasure yourself for me," he clarified with an air of haughtiness, as if irritated by her slow wits.

   Loki had obviously taken the result of her blowjob skills as a point scored in her corner, and now he wanted to draw a tie.

   "Here?" she looked around with agitation but then her eyes landed on the portable shower head mounted on the wall. _Forget diamonds, here stands my true best friend_ , she chuckled at her own internal joke and pulled the metal hose off its stand.

  Masturbating in front of others made her nervous, she usually tried to avoid it as best as she could, and only relented when a customer was extremely persuasive, or sweet. Loki wasn't sweet, persuasive - most definitely, albeit in a different manner to what she was used to. In her every day life, she rarely responded well to threats, and the last time a man had managed to seduce her...well, that hadn't exactly ended well.

   "A place as good as any other," he shrugged and took a step back, watching her handle the shower head with apparent interest.

  Iskra lowered herself to the floor, as elegantly as she could, given the circumstances, and sat down with her knees bent and her legs open. She concentrated on the swirling patterns the water created on the tiled floor, and prayed it didn't take her long to finish. She changed the settings from sprinkles to a single jet of water, and without further ado, aimed it at her clit. The familiar pleasurable sensation was almost instant, and Iskra tried to imagine herself on her own, in her own bathroom, away from Loki, and his penetrating gaze, the intensity of which she, at present, felt was almost burning holes into her skin.

  Her aching body, tired and pumped full of stress, seemed to welcome the prospect of relief, and Iskra leant to the cold wall, head back and eyes shut. She deepened and hurried her breathing and tightened the muscles of her thighs and buttocks in order to hasten the arrival of her climax.

   "Look at me, slave girl," his voice was as cool as his long fingers, now suddenly wrapped around her throat in a gentle, yet firm grip.

  She did, and found him now down at her level, his other hand reaching for the handle of the shower head. Iskra didn't object when he took it off her, lost in the dark chasm behind Loki's eyes, his unnaturally cold breath on her face. The frightening realization that those eyes did not belong to a human being finally hit her, and suddenly it felt as if she was back under the onslaught of the freezing water. _And if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee_ , she wondered if whoever had said that had actually met Loki and dared to stare into his eyes.

  He changed the angle of the jet, and moved it closer to her body, so that the force of it on her most sensitive spot, now made her jerk and she couldn't help a soft whine escape her parted lips.

   "No...too much...," she protested and tried to wriggle away from the near painful intensity of the sensation but he held her in place.

   "Look at me!" he commanded again, his voice harsh this time, when she childlessly shut eyes and held her breath in a futile bid to escape the inescapable.

  She did as he said, and was grateful for the grip of his hand around her throat, now tight and unrelenting, for had it not been there, holding her down and obstructing the airflow to her lungs, her violent shudders and wild, wanton screams would have been inexcusably more violent and wanton. All reason, doubts, regrets and fear left her mind, replaced by the sweetness of pure nothingness, as her body spasmed and shook in luscious waves of relief from the built up pressure between her quivering legs.

  When it was over, Iskra found herself completely spent, and unable to move or even think. The trepidations and duress of the last few days had finally taken its toll, and she knew that hadn't Loki picked her up and carried her away to the sofa, she would have happily fallen asleep on the wet bathroom floor.


	8. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, guys! Life and the dark side of the Internet have been trying to get the better of me. Not today! Lol

                                                                                                    **Chapter Eight**

                                                                                                        Escape

 

   Iskra woke up from a long and dreamless sleep. At first she was disoriented and then terrified when she looked around and found herself on her own again. Loki's bed was empty - the sheets straightened up and pristine. She struggled for a moment to recall the last thing she had done before falling asleep - she didn't remember lying down on the sofa or covering herself with the soft fleecy throw - no, what she did remember, however, sent a chill down her spine, followed by an unwelcome, yet sweet, sensation in her lower belly and a light spasm down her thighs. She decided it was for the best to ignore the troubling memory and the confusing emotions that it brought with it - it was way too early in the morning (afternoon?) for a trip down Guilt Lane.

  She sat up and stretched her arms and back with a little yawn. Her eyes fell on one of the bed-side tables which now stood next to the sofa, in front of her, and the silver tray on it, containing the most scrumptious looking croissant she had ever seen, accompanied by a large mug of black coffee. She reached out and grabbed the mug, only now realizing that the delicious smell of roasted Arabica had been the thing that had woken her up. It was still pleasantly warm. Loki couldn't have been gone for long. From the look of things so far, it seemed that she wasn't being punished this time - on the contrary, especially after she noticed the little hi-fi remote control he had left beside the tray.

   Iskra immediately stood up and pointed it at the stereo set on the book shelf. Tony's den filled up with the cacophony of human voices - the local radio station, she concluded a few moments later, after recognizing the high-pitched voice of the female broadcaster and the sullen one of her male companion. They were talking to a caller who had apparently witnessed the desolation of New Haven and lived to talk about it. The radio hosts went on to remind the population that resistence to the king's rightful rule was futile and it would continue to be punished severely. Then the woman's voice had the audacity to praise Loki's mercy, insisting that the mass execution of the rebellious inhabitants had been conducted in a swift and painless manner.

   Iskra snorted, grimaced distastefully and used the remote to switch the FM channel to CD. " _They would rip you apart, limb by limb, and eat your heart, still warm and twitching, before they consume the rest, just as I have witnessed them do countless times before_ ," Loki's threatening words echoed in her head. 

   "That's some mercy, alright," she said to the empty room. 

  After the Chitauri throngs had first spilled from the portal in the sky above New York with their behemoth sentient flying ships, wreaking devastation and instilling terror, annihilating the armed forces and their subpar human war tech, and after they had been conquered, Iskra, just like the majority of people, had thought they'd be forced to spend the remainer of their lives in a post-apocalyptic distopian cave-men society. They had been wrong: Loki had insured most services were kept undisturbed. Controlled, censored, biased, in some cases inadequate and somewhat incapacitated, but mostly undisturbed. 

  As far she knew, in order to achieve this he had to have not only the alien army but a substantial number of humans under his command. She wasn't entirely certain how but most people suspected it was through means of threats, extortion, torture and even mind control. There were rumours about the Chitauri possessing a powerful weapon of mind control but no one could say for sure, and the speculations alone ought to have scared some people into obedience.

   And of course there was the propaganda. The media, or at least what was left of its warped and censored husk, was blurting out non-stop daily propaganda. One could use the news anchors' and radio hosts' obsequious whining as a thesaurus for the word subjugation.

   Iskra quickly visited the bathroom, avoiding looking at the shower booth and sat down to finish her coffee. She pressed "play" and ate her breakfast under the much more pleasant accompaniment of Ozzy Osbourne's voice. Her heart clenched when she realized that Tony must have been the last person using the hi-fi. She had to find a way to find out what had happened to him.

   A loud sound, not part of the music, interrupted her thoughts and made her jump. It had gone right through her body, like a wave of very deep bass. She quickly turned the stereo off and looked around the room, the hairs on her arms standing up, both from fear and something else. It was the weird sensation of something inconspicuous suddenly ceasing to exist and thus making itself very much conspicuous - like a sleeping person in a moving car waking up, disturbed by the lack of noise, once the engine had stopped, she thought. The little red light at the bottom right corner of the television was now on, together with the blue flicker on the electronic door panel.

   Iskra stood frozen in her tracks but after a minute or so of nothing else out of the ordinary happening, she briskly walked to the big wardrobe behind the bed. She pulled at one of the sliding panels and the shiny red wood moved under her hand with no resistence.

   "The magic," she whispered, "it's gone!"

   She then quickly ran to the heavy, fortified door, afraid that the momentarily lapse in Loki's force field spell, or whatever it was, would not last long and pressed the button on the panel to open it. With a click and a hiss, the metal hatch slid to her left, into the wall, and she was left there standing, dazed by the strong fluorescent light coming from the empty hallway, unable to move at first. Iskra shook her head and forcefully blinked a few times just to make sure this was really happening, then made a step forward onto the cold sterile floor outside, then stepped back in.

   She had spent most of her time since she became Loki's prisoner imagining herself walking out through that door, into that very hallway; she had spent countless minutes trying to remember every single bit of information about the building she knew or had heard about, or deduced by replaying the positions of the elevators, fire exits and multiple offices and appartments in her head. In her darkest moments, she had imagined herself running down the countless stairs, all the way down to the ground floor, and then out of that wretched place, never to step foot near it again, and it had given her strength and purpose to go on. And yet now, when the door finally stood wide open in front of her, she felt as if her legs had been superglued to the ground.

  _It's a trick. He's probably watching me right now. Waiting for me to make a false move_. She poked her head out through the doorway and looked both ways, staring determinedly into the long empty corridor and listening for any sounds. There were none. Iskra went back in and paced around the living area of the den impatiently, one hand on her waist, the other one's thumbnail in between her teeth. _He wants to see if I'll defy him. Fucking prick_.

  She left the door open and sat on the sofa. A minute passed. Then two. Three. 

  She got up, her heart pounding in her chest, and this time made two tentative steps outside. Nothing happened. 

   "Hello?" she hesitated, "...Loki?"

  Saying his name out loud felt weird and it made her uncomfortable.

   "Stop messing with me!"

 

   A disturbing idea surfaced in her mind. What if something had happened to him? She thought about the other night when she had tried to bash him on the head with Tony's armour glove. What if he's dead? That line of speculation should have made her relieved if not jumping up and down with happiness, but it didn't. All she could think about were the Chitauri guards swarming the building. 

  For a moment she considered going back in, locking the door behind her and hiding herself in the bathroom. But what if it was indeed true that Loki had been killed or seriously injured - if the aliens had risen against him in mutiny, wouldn't they eventually come up to his lair and break through the door to investigate what he had in here and find her? Iskra shook her head, rubbed the goose flesh on her bare arms and legs, and decided her best option was to bolt it and hope for the best.

  She ran back inside to the wardrobe and took out the first shirt she could get her hands on. It was silky and white and unfortunately did not cover her bare ass. She frantically rummaged through the drawers until she got to the underwear one, and pulled out a pair of trunks. They were red and yellow, with the Iron Man's face grinning back at her from the crotch area.

   "Damn it, Tony!"

  Her lips curled up in an inadvertent smile while stepping through the pant legs and she dashed to the sofa to pull out the plastic bottle from underneath. She chewed two pills and shoved the little bottle in the front pocket of the shirt. It felt so good to wear clothes. _Clothes_ , she laughed nervously, _I will never take you for granted again_ , then threw a glance at her four-inch heels, which she had discarded behind the sofa the night Loki had taken her - _Can't say the same about you, though!_ \- and decided to go barefoot.

  Iskra chose to go left. Her destination was a fire escape door she had taken a mental note of. Tony's secret den was located on the supply and maintenance floor of the tower - from the outside you could not distinguish it from any other room full of piles of boxed up goods, cleaning appliances or raw materials for the tech labs. In the past the corridors had almost always been empty which thankfully was the case now as well. Nevertheless, she knew that hordes of aliens had taken over and moved in a few of the floors, unfortunately she had no idea exactly where. 

  Her bare feet let her run down the brightly lit hallway making hardly any noise. The loudest sounds were coming from her erratic, hyper-ventilating breathing and she swore she could hear her own heart beating rapidly in her chest. She got to the fire door undisturbed and opened it. _So far so good_ , Iskra sighed with relief. She had to go through two more doors before she got to the stairs. _Two flights of stairs to each floor, twelve stairs to a flight, fifty-six floors, that means_...she tried to do the calculation in her head and failed... _fuck it, lots and lots of_ _steps to freedom!_   Well, to the ground floor really...Iskra had no idea what she'd do once she got there. She was hoping that some sort of a solution would come to her along the way - a back door exit, another staircase to the underground floors, a vent, a secret passageway away from the atrium... 

  She ran down the stairs like she had never run down stairs before, she would jump over two or three at a time and once she misguided her step, lost her balance and awkwardly fell down, hurting her shin and her left thigh. 

  When she got down to the twentieth floor she abruptly stopped and the momentum nearly caused her to have another tumble. A thick film of grime was covering the bannister, the stairs, the landing below, and even most of the walls. She let go of the rail, and swore, realizing with disgust that she had got some of the stuff on her fingers. It was dark in colour and slimy, and it smelled like something she had once forgotten at the back of her fridge where it had been rotting for months until she found it and flushed it down the toilet.  Iskra gagged at the thought of having to walk barefoot through the reeking filth and decided to walk back up a floor or two and enter the tower corridors again in search for a different fire exit. The source of the gruesome slime also bothered her, she concluded that the only explanation as to why it was there was that she was near the Chitauri abode.

  Climbing back up the stairs turned out to be much more of an ordeal than climbing down, especially with her now aching muscles and exhausted energy resources. She noted, irritated, that her injury from before was worse than she had believed it was, and she rubbed at her thigh and lower leg, making a face at the visible bruising. 

  Iskra got back up to the twenty-second floor, completely out of breath, treacherous white dots dancing in front of her eyes, and opened the trio of doors leading to the hallway, one after the other with trembling hands, only to be met by her worst nightmare.

  Four aliens sat on the floor, two of them with their backs to her, the other two immediately looking up and fixing their soulless slits of eyes on her, the moment the heavy fire escape door shut behind her. There was something on the floor between them - a heap of white rags, soaked in red, and the grey hulks were holding pieces of it in their clawed hands. One was chewing, his hideous skull-like jowls dripping with... _Blood_ , Iskra opened her mouth in a silent scream and reached out for the handle but before she could open the door half way, one of the monsters clutched at her shoulder and yanked back, causing her to fall backwards on the cold floor. She startled at the sound of her own scream and before she could even attempt getting back up, the Chitauri took hold of her ankle and dragged her to his now standing up friends and the dead lab worker's body that they'd been dining on.

  Once he let her go, Iskra scrambled up but slippled on the blood-stained tiles and fell back on her ass. Frozen with fear, and unable to avert her eyes from the gory remains only feet away from her, she scooted back until her back hit the wall behind her. The armoured aliens surrounded her, grunting animatedly to one another in their own language, and distorting their ugly faces in what she discerned was their equivalent of a smile.

  The one with the bloody mouth reached out to grab her first and without any forethought, Iskra slapped at his scaly arm, hurting herself in the process, and shouted at him, her eyes wide and mad, like those of a cornered animal:

  
   "I am property of the king and if you dare harm me he'll make you regret it bitterly!"

 The alien withdrew his hand, looking confused, and exchanged a few gurgling snorts and growls with his frowning fellows. Iskra's ears caught Loki's name in the otherwise meaningless flow of grunts and she took the opportunity again.

   "Yes, Loki! I am King Loki's bed slave and he will be very angry if you kill me! You don't want to make him angry, trust me!" She felt a cold tingle down her spine at the thought of Loki being well and alive and angry at her for running away. But surely, anything would be better than being ripped apart and eaten alive by these monsters. 

   "Let me go and I won't mention this to him! I'll go on my way, like nothing's happened and you can continue your..." she glanced at the butchered body on the floor, her eyes shutting and her throat tightening at the sight of its defleshed ribcage, "...dinner party."

  Unimpressed by her attempt at being humorous, the lobster-beast roughly took her by the neck and lifted her up, her legs kicking helplessly and her back still touching the wall, like she weighed nothing.

  "Fuck...the...king," he barked in something resembling human speech and leaned into Iskra's face, his slithery skin only millimetres away from hers, his snake-like resemblance of a nose loudly inhaling, smelling her.

  Just when she felt his foul-smelling, slug-like tongue lapping at her cheek, and his razor-sharp teeth grazing her chin with the promise of unspeakable horrors, a voice echoed down the corridor. Cold, assertive and full of liquid menace, it made the alien let go of Iskra's face and look towards the direction of its owner: a few yards away from them, a lonely dark figure stood under the bright fluorescence of the lights.

  "Let her go!" commanded Loki.

 

 


	9. Out Of The Frying Pan Into The Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a spell checker on my phone or on my laptop, so please forgive any typos! I will reread all the chapters at some point and re-edit them, just don't know when. Have been really struggling with time lately. I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! And...smut is finally coming in the next installment!

                                                                                                                  **Chapter Nine**

                                                                                                     Out Of The Frying Pan Into The Fire

 

 

    "Let the human go," Loki repeated calmly while stealthily closing up the distance between the four alien soldiers and himself.

   The one holding Iskra growled something back at him and took out a long knife from his belt, shoving the sharp serrated blade right at her throat. She stood still and held her breath, afraid that the slightest movement would drive the cold metal slicing through her skin.

   Her eyes fixed on Loki's silent prowl through the corridor and involuntary teared up when he made eye contact with her. She had never seen a human face (well, human-like in his case) exude so much threat and malevolence. With movements way too fast for her eyes, yet somehow casual, he took a dagger out from underneath his leather jacket and threw it in Iskra's direction. Less than an instant later she felt the air around her face whoosh which made her wince and forced her to close her eyes. The knife at her throat suddenly disappeared and she opened her eyes just in time to see the Chitauri guard fall backwards to the floor with a loud thud - his ugly jaw, still stained in red from his grizzly dinner, now open wide as if in silent surprise, Loki's dagger half-buried in his right eye, the left one glazed over like a dead fish'.

  Iskra remembered she had to breathe and inhaled sharply. Without a second glance at the three remaining aliens she dashed towards her uncanny saviour but a clawed hand clasped at her swishing hair and it pulled back fiercely. Something in her neck popped painfully and her legs buckled helplessly. She flayed her arms and kicked while the alien dragged her back. Loki sprinted towards her just as one of the others shot a blast from his gun at him. The Asgardian prince skillfully dodged the energy beam by ducking down and sliding on his knees while at the same time throwing another dagger. Iskra heard a guttural shriek and a second thud, and then her eyes were temporarily blinded when Loki halfway met the fourth alien's blast with his own magic, the green and white light colliding and closing a mini explosion in the hallway.

  In the aftermath of the blowout, amidst smoke and falling debris from the damaged walls and ceiling Iskra saw Loki pull out both daggers from the two dead Chitauri, and now with one in each hand, arms spread wide apart, he swiftly swiped in towards the third one's throat, essentially beheading him in the process.

  Iskra felt the alien behind her tighten his grip and wrap an armoured arm around her neck, the foreign metal cool and hard against her throat. That didn't seem to even slightly faze Loki who nonchalantly headed in her direction, his menacing face now sporting a sly grin. _Please, don't let him break my neck_ , Iskra closed her eyes and prayed to every god who was listening. A few long seconds passed without anything happening, the only sound coming from her shallow breathing, so she opened them again. Loki had stopped a couple of yards away from her, the smile gone from his expression. He was still clutching the two daggers and intensely staring at her chest. She looked down too, afraid that she'd been mortally wounded without even realizing it but what she saw got her confused instead.

   The Chitauri had taken the blue gem out of his belt and was now holding it a few inches away from her heart. He then growled something at Loki, whose face hardened up with content and he reluctantly dropped the daggers down to the floor. Iskra didn't understand what kind of threat exactly the blue stone constituted but it had to be something bad, considering Loki's reaction. He exchanged a few words with the guard, in the Chitauri's grunting, gnarly speech, his voice dripping with venom and eyes burning with disdain. The alien's breastplate shook as the creature performed his grotesque version of laughter and he roughly shoved the gem at Iskra's sternum.

  The look of fear and defeat on Loki's face told her to prepate for the worst. Iskra imagined her internal organs exploding or her body catching fire, or any other similar way of agonizing death about to ensue but nothing happened. Nothing at all. The alien pulled the gem away from her and pushed it back in, as if that was somehow meant to reboot it, but still nothing unusual occured. Before the realization completely hit him that the stupid blue rock wasn't going to do any harm and before he proceeded to attempt to end her life by simply snapping her neck, Loki was already behind them both, doing the same to him. Iskra heard the nauseating crack of the alien's verterbrae and then his grey body slumped to the floor, the gem rolling out of his curled up, dead fingers.

  For a minute or two, she just gazed at her rescuer silently, still reeling from the shock of staring death in the face and witnessing all the violence that followed after. Loki seemed decidedly unimpressed. He gave her a quick look back, then went on to dust off his shoulders and the front of his jacket from the debris and exaggeratedly rubbed the palms of his hands together. Next, he nimbly walked over to the place where he had dropped his daggers and retrieved them, wiping them clean with a piece of green cloth he took out from an inner pocket underneath his leathers. He then, without a second glance at Iskra, began promptly walking away in the direction of the nearest lifts.

  After a second of hesitation, she scurried after him, head bowed down, heart heavy with concern. Iskra caught up with him just when the elevator doors opened, and Loki gracefully waved his arm in a sign of chivalry to let her board it first.

 Once they were in and he had punched in Tony's den's floor number, she mustered enough courage to break the silence.

   "Thank you," she swallowed with effort, "for saving my life."

   "I should have let them have you."

 

   He looked her up and down as if mentally taking a note of the damage inflicted on his property and his mouth twisted in a sly smile at her unconcealed displeasure.

     "I should be the one sulking, my dear pet - indecorously befallen with the most disagreeable of circumstances, I arrive _home_ today only to be greeted by your absence," he tutted. "Do you not feel ashamed?"

  Slowly coming down from the adrenaline rush, Iskra was starting to feel a bit giddy, and in all honestly quite high. With her inhibitions down and extra courage in, she felt her annoyance at Loki's condescending tone battle with the gratitude she felt towards him, the annoyance uncompromisingly winning.

   "If it wasn't for your sick mind games, this wouldn't have never happened," she snapped. "What did you think I'd do once you took the defences off? Wait for your pretty face to come back and shower me with love and respect?"

  When he smirked she wasn't sure whether it was at her mention of the word "shower" or at her sarcasm, or both.

   

    "I don't think your kind gets off on respect. You seemed to revel in pleasuring me on your knees last night."

    "My kind?! What are you exactly hinting at?" Iskra yelled, her face flushed red and heart pounding again.

  She was not going to just sit at let him demean her because of her choice of career. There were few things she hated more than men who intentionally chose to seek her sevices only to then make snidey comments about it and try to degrade her.

    "Oh, and am I meant to be kissing your ass now just because you gave me breakfast in bed - ," she paused, put her index finger up in the air and shook it, correcting herself, "- breakfast on the settee and an orgasm? Screw that!"

 She knew she was only going to get herself in big trouble speaking to him the way she did but the flight-or-fight hormones and her meds still rushing through her blood, combined with the fact that she was actually out of her homemade prison for the first time in four days made her feel over-confident and she continued to glare at him and antagonize him.

 There was something else too, she could see it now, standing so close to him, undisturbed by having to fend off attempts at her life, he actually looked like something the cat had dragged in. His usually immaculate hair appeared sweaty and greasy, like he'd been in a physical battle way longer and considerably more taxing than the altercation on the 22nd floor. There were dark circles around and underneath his eyes, his skin looked exceptionally pale and his face - gaunt. Was it possible that something or someone had indeed harmed Loki and thus caused the lapse in his magic wards? But if it was - how? - she had just born witness to his superhuman reflexes and lethal combat skills.

 

    "What the hell happened to you?" she asked, her voice showing cattiness rather than concern. "You look like shit."

    "You are now entering a dangerous territory by adding insolence to your offences. I can assure you that the punishment you recently endured will pale in comparison to what awaits you once we get back to my chambers."

   He spoke the words out calmly and softly, more of a promise than a threat, but she could sense the wild anger seething just below the surface of his reserve. Iskra bit down on her tongue to stop herself from talking and followed him silently, walking safely a few steps behind him, once they reached their designated floor.  

  When they got to the secret den's door Iskra's legs briefly froze and she thought he'd have to manually push her through the threshold in order to make her move but thankfully she managed to make herself step inside unaided. _I am willfully walking back into my cage_ , she thought sadly, throwing one last look at the long empty corridor and its bright unforgiving lights before the heavy metal door banged shut behind her.

 

    "Now we are here alone, and undisturbed, please enlighten me," Loki said in a low voice, "how in Borr's name did you manage to withstand the Mind stone's power?"

    "What are you talking about?" Iskra blinked, genuinely perplexed.

    "The Chitauri's blue gem?"

    "What about it?"

  Loki let out a sigh and piched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

    "It didn't render you under Thanos' control when the beast put it to your chest. Why?"

    "Oh, is that what it was supposed to do?" she mused, visibly intrigued. "I have no idea... Who the fuck is Thanos?"

  Loki paced around the room impatiently, a deep frown on his face, as if lost in concentration over solving an impossible riddle. He would occasionally stroke through the crown of his head and down his long black locks like he was combing out troublesome memories.

   "I will get to the bottom of this, one way or another," he eventually said more or less to himself, then stopped and put his attention back on Iskra, "Let us not waste any more time on trivial matters but focus on your atonement instead."

  There was a change in his expression now, one that she didn't particularly care for.

   "Remove these abhorrent garnments at once!" he commanded.

 

   Iskra took a few unintentional steps backwards until her calves bumped into the side of the bed. She looked down at Tony's white shirt and red and yellow trunks on her body and felt an inexplicable urge to hold on to them for dear life. In the light of the last few days' events, she didn't simply see them as clothes any more, she saw them as armour. Without them, she feared, she would retract to being vulnerable and scared again, not that they could actually stave off Loki's advances in any way, what they could do was serve as a form of mental shield, she thought.

   She shut her eyes and clenched her fists, fully comprehending that what she was about to say was not in the least in her favour, yet still unable to help herself.

    "No."

    "I don't believe you understand the gravity of the situation," Loki slowly walked up to her, his imposing figure blacking out the light from behind, "With every word of defiance the hole you are digging for yourself gets deeper and deeper."

  She could now hear the creaking of his leather suit, as he lifted his hands and straightened the messy waves of her hair in a mockingly caring manner. She could also smell him: the supple scent of cowhide, predatory musk and electrifying ozone.

    "Take off your clothes," he coursely whispered, his breath cold and eerie on her neck.

 

    _To hell with it! I am not going to be a silent spectator in his game of humiliation!_  She looked him straight in the eye.

    "You take them off!"

  Loki's thin lips stretched in an unnerving grin and a mischievous twinkle made his green eyes appear brighter.

   "Oh, I but will, my impertinent little pet, just not in the way you imagined."

 

  He turned around and headed swiftly for the other end of the room, where the big bookcase stood, a spring of excitement in his step. Iskra watched him pull out a vintage looking wooden chest from the far corner of the bottom shelf. She already knew what was inside. Once again she cursed Tony to damnation, this time in her mind, when Loki walked back to her with the now opened box and lay it on the bed.

 She rolled her eyes when he started taking out various sex toys and cheap looking BDSM gear, more suitable as Halloween props than dungeon accessories: pair of plastic handcuffs sporting fluffy white pom-poms, a pink sparkly dildo and a less sparkly butt plug, a red ball gag, a vibrating spiky cock ring and a black satin eye mask with a Playboy bunny at the corner of it, among other things. Loki picked up a string of glassy looking anal beads and dangled them in front of his face, studying them inquisitively.

   "I have always found mortals' mating rituals quite baffling, to say the least. Would you be so kind to educate me on the purpose of this contraption?" he looked up at her with his eyebrows raised, his face a picture of innocence, yet his eyes - those of the Devil.

 She breathed out a sigh of relief when Loki dropped the beads on the bed, thankfully not really expecting an answer from her, or God forbid - a demonstration - anal play was not Iskra's forte.

  He continued rummaging through the chest until he let out an exclamation of sheer delight upon fishing out the small faux leather whip Ashleigh had brought in on their first joint call to Stark's secret naughty den. It was light and flimsy - made of very thin material and they had used it on one another amidst bursts of drunken laughter just to mess about. Iskra imagined that it would be nearly impossible for anyone, including Loki, to wield it in such a manner as to cause any significant pain. _Like a cat's lick_ , she reassured herself trying hard to hide her alleviation and the lack of fear at the sight of the device. By now she was pretty much sure that he was bluffing about the severity of her punishment, only trying to freak her out for the fun of it. After all, he had saved her from the alien monsters. If he wanted her dead, or badly injured, he could literally just point a finger at her and...

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft glow of gold and emerald shimmer emanating from Loki's hand that was holding the whip, the light swirling down its handle, then enveloping each individual lash and stretching it down, growing with it in length and width.

  When, a few seconds later, the magic spectacle was finished, the previously innocuous flogger was completely transformed: no longer made of synthetic leather but of tightly knit rope, each lash now spreading down to the floor. The worst, however, was not the length, but the fact that a cluster of gnarly knots decorated each tip. _Not that kind of cat!_

 

   "That's more like it!," Loki lovingly ran the fingers of his free hand down the length of his creation, and casually strolled towards Iskra, taking his time.

 Suddenly terrified, she stepped back alongside the bed until her back was flush with the wall.

  "Not so brave now, are we?" he taunted, "Now turn around and take your punishment."


	10. Sticks And Stones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, guys, sorry about the delay!  
> What happened, apart from annoying real life stuff, was that I didn't want to break my promise of smut for the second time in a row, so I decided to publish two chapters at the same time (the smut occuring at the end of the second one because I couldn't fit it all in one). However, two somehow turned into three!  
> Anyway, some new characters get introduced, plot happens and then, FINALLY, at long last, Loki and Iskra get it on in Chapter 12.  
> I hope it is worth the wait!
> 
> P.S. I have added a short sentence to the previous chapter because the story line required it (nothing imporatnt but I had to keep the continuity).

                                                                                                          **Chapter Ten**

                                                                                                       Sticks And Stones

 

 

     Iskra moved her eyes from the newly conjured up cat o'nine tails to Loki's cold gleaming eyes.

  "You have to be kidding me, right?"

  "I can assure you, my dear, this is not a jest. Now turn around, I am losing my patience."

    Iskra had had the misfortune of seeing The Passion of the Christ and so knew what kind of damage the prolonged contact with one of those things could inflict. She thought the best course of action was to avoid angering her captor any further, so she obediently turned around and placed her hands on the wall.

   Her feet collided with something on the floor: fighting disturbing images of Roman guards in a blood-splattered courtyard, she absent-mindedly looked down and corrected her step to avoid stepping on it.

   "Let this be a lesson in humility to you," Loki said in a stern voice, "the faster a learner you are, the sooner it will be over."

 

   Iskra thought that she would hear the whip's crack before it landed on her back, however, she heard nothing until the lashes slapped at her, tearing Tony's thin shirt to shreds and causing her to keel forward. It felt like someone had thrown boiling water over her back, and just like being scalded, the pain came with a delay, and then intensified with a vengeance. She didn't scream only because the shock had rendered her breathless.

  When she managed to start breathing again she looked over her shoulder at Loki, her eyes stinging with condemnation and suppressed tears.

      "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

  He kept his face emotionless and grim yet she thought she caught a glisten of moisture in his eyes. Instead of hinting at his rudimentary compassion, it reassured her of his overriding determination and she recoiled, terrified.

      "Turn. Around."

   An involuntary whimper escaped her lips when she did as he commanded, and rested her clammy forehead on the wall. _I'm so screwed! Think, goddammit, think!_   She had to break the spell and get him out of whatever psycho mode he was in or he was going to end up crippling her, or worse.

  The second blow from the flogger brought her to her knees and a high-pitched, wretched noise painfully rang in her ears. She desperately covered them with her hands before she realized that the source of the racket were her own lungs and she stopped screaming. She looked back at Loki again and tried to speak instead but nothing articulate came out of her mouth.

  He stepped forward, crouched down to her level and raised a brow at her, the hateful device still in his hand.

    "I'm listening."

  She could see blood on the knotted strings of rope. Her blood.

  Iskra shuffled around to face Loki, scratching her thigh on the rubble that lay on the floor. Her back still on fire, she barely registered this new, minor injury, yet she reached back to dislodge the offending object digging at her bare skin.

    "Please, stop," she uttered, "I can't take any more."

  She closed her eyes to stop herself from crying, and forcibly swallowed another piece of her broken pride. "I'll be good, I promise."

  He gave out a genial chuckle before his face returned to his previous cold conviction. His eyes had an icy blue tinge to them she hadn't seen before. He reached and grabbed her chin, tilting her head back slightly.

  And then he whispered _The Words._  

    "Beg me."

   Iskra felt her stomach drop. Her heart pummeled against her chest in tune with the painful memory wreaking havoc through her already tormented mind. _No, no, no! Never again!_               Unable to hide from his piercing gaze, Iskra kept her eyes fixed steady on his.

    "Please, stop!" she said.

   There was plea in her voice but also rage. Long forgotten rage, yet its long windy roots still lay firmly entagled through her brain, her heart, her muscles, through the very fibres of her being. Her hand, almost out of its own accord clasped the item from underneath her hip.

    "Not good enough," Loki grinned. "It seems you require a bit more convincing."

   For someone notorious for her clumsiness and slow reactions, Iskra surprised herself big time. She was sure she surprised Loki even more. In the split second he let go of her and readied himself to stand up, she swiped at his face like a feral cat, the sharp piece of broken tile not merely a weapon but an extension of her arm, of her very self - a pointy summit of her fury and her hatred towards everyone who had ever hurt her.

    "Is that good enough for you, you evil fuck!?!" she snarled at him and didn't even flinch when he roughly grabbed her lower arm and squeezed hard, causing her fingers to unvoluntarily let go of the jagged piece of ceramic.

   He was a moment too late, though: a red ugly gash spanned his forehead starting from the middle of his eyebrows all the way to the left and disappeared in his hairline.

   Loki dropped the whip, which changed back to its old non-threatening fake-leather form the instant it touched the floor, and pushed Iskra away. She landed on her bottom, wide-eyed and speechless, unable to stop herself from staring at the blood dripping down her captor's face and at him trying to wipe it off in exasperation. In an unsettling minute or two, before the cut closed and healed on its own with astonishing speed, Loki's face, all drenched in blood and savage looking resembled that of a homicidal maniac from a gruesome horror film.

   "You wicked little quim! You are going to pay for this!" he hissed.

  He stepped towards Iskra who hadn't moved an inch, still sat on the floor in shock, and then stopped in his tracks. The menace on his face suddenly melted away and he furrowed his brows.

   "You have only yourself to blame for this, foolish wench!"

   He eyed her up carefully.

   "How in Hel's name am I meant to mend this?"

 

   Confused by his words and the abrupt change in his demeanour, Iskra followed the direction of Loki's gaze to her right arm which lay floppy at her side, bent where it shouldn't have been able to bend. She stared at the unnatural curve between her wrist and her elbow, where Loki had gripped her, deeply disturbed by the view and fought an urge to throw up. She tried to move her hand but all she managed was a slight twitch of her fingers.

  And then the pain hit. Iskra used her left hand to grab at the right one in a childish attempt to soothe it but the action caused an explosion of white-hot agony in her injured limb and she screamed.

    "You broke my arm! You broke my fucking arm!!"

    "Do not touch it!" Loki scolded her.

  He calmly walked past her to the wardrobe, took a spare bed sheet out and started ripping it apart.

    "Oh God, it hurts so much!"

    "Good!"

   He knelt beside her and proceeded to secure her arm into the DYI sling, passing the fabric over her neck and behind her back.

   Weak and dazzled by the pain, she leaned into him, resting her wet, burning face on the cool firmness of his leather coat. In complete defiance of logic and reason she wrapped her good arm around his neck and let herself cry into his chest.

   At first Loki just stood there, motionless and rigid, and Iskra was afraid he'd push her away in disgust or mockery but then he tentatively wrapped his arm around her back, making sure not to rub at her sore skin, and held her while she wept. Between her gulps and sobs she felt, more than actually heard, his steady heartbeat and her lungs filled up with his scent. It felt oddly comforting. She thought that this must be the first time he had ever touched her with genuine kindness.

    "Shhh now," he whispered in her ear. "I never meant to cause you any serious harm. You humans could be so obstinately defiant, sometimes it makes me forget how fragile you are..."

  Iskra lifted her head and looked at his eyes. There, in between the emerald ridges of cockiness and guile, she also saw concern, and no more tinges of blue.

    "No...serious...harm?!" she had to stop and catch her breath between the words. "You...were going to take...the skin...off my back...with that...thing!"

    "Do you really think me that cruel?"

    "I...don't know...are you?"

    "Perhaps," he said flatly, "I should live up to your expectations."

   

   Iskra winced and tried to wriggle out of his hold as a new wave of fear gripped her mind but it felt like fighting a brick wall and she only caused herself more pain in the process. Breathless, she examined his impassive expression, struggling to comprehend whether he was joking or not, and when he finally smiled, she let her body relax and gave out a sigh of relief.

    "You are truly fortunate not to have endured real cruelty inflicted upon you," Loki said quietly and took his arm off her back.

   He made a quick swirling motion in the air and a few gold and green specks of light flickered between his fingers. A slick black mobile popped into existence in his hand. Iskra gaped at it incredulously - it was Tony Stark's satellite phone.

   Loki pressed a button and seconds later someone answered on the other end.

   "Elevator, in five," was all he said and hung up, then the device vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

   He took Iskra by the waist and gently but firmly pulled her up to her feet. She groaned and had to steady herself by clutching at his elbow before she regained her balance. She was naseous and lightheaded, and her broken arm throbbed like a second heart, radiating rays of scorching heat across her body but surprisingly she was still able to stand and support her weight.

   "I trust you will be able to manage a short walk from here."

   She shivered nervously at the thought of being taken out of the den, despite her very recent attempt at escaping. Things had definitely taken an unexpected turn for the better, so at least for now she told herself she should be safe. Although, the thought of being paraded around to other people while at Loki's mercy did not seem appealing at all and made her feel especially vulnerable. Another pang of pain jumbled up her thoughts and she wiped at her clammy brow, straining to control her breathing.

   "Where are we going?"

   Loki didn't reply and instead circled her, looking her up and down with obvious disapproval. Tony's white shirt was no longer white, most of the lower front part was covered in the dead lab worker's blood, tiny splashes of his own decorated the area around her breasts, the end of the sleeves and the cufflings sported a dirty grey colour, having been swept against the sticky alien grime at the fire escape staircase, most of the shirt's back had been ripped to shreds by the knots of the cat, leaving Iskra's back and quite a few bleeding scratches on it exposed, she suspected. Her pale shapely legs were also stained with blood, dust and various bruises.

  "You look like shit," Loki noted with a devious grin, mimicking her earlier jab at him in the lift.

   He pressed a long finger to his lips in silent contemplation and fetched a black blazer coat from the wardrobe, loosely draping it over her shoulders. She suspected that his desire to use her abject condition as a warning example of what befalls those disobidient to the king, overruled his displease at having his rival's clothes keeping his trophy's modesty.

  "Where are we going?" Iskra repeated and stumbled behind Loki as he opened the metal door.

  "To the healers' quarters."

  She blinked, perplexed for a moment, and then it dawned on her.

  "Are you taking me to the doctor's?"

 

  He curled his mouth and gave her arm's makeshift sling a scornful look.

   "I am more than capable of healing my own injuries, and those of others, if superficial enough, but I have never tried mending a bone fracture in a human. I'm afraid I might end up injuring you further in the process, and as alluring as it is for me to see your eyes widen in fear and hear you gasp in pain before me, I will abstain."

  She rolled her eyes and huffed at him with mock exaggeration:

   "And here I was, just about to say "thank you"..."

 A little smile of amusement graced his thin lips and chipped away at the intimidation Iskra felt in his presence. She reached out and got hold of his arm.

   "Wait."

  She grabbed the end of Tony's coat's sleeve and pulled it over her fingers using her teeth, then stood on her tippy toes and started wiping at a dried up blood stain on Loki's face he had somehow missed. It wasn't budging, so she brought the material to her mouth and licked it a few times before having a go at the smudge again, unfazed by the total look of disgust in Loki's eyes for having to endure a measly mortal's spit smeared all over his godly features.


	11. Friends And Foes

                                                                                                  **Chapter Eleven**

                                                                                                Friends And Foes

 

 

     Iskra was staring at the full size mirror in the elevator, frowning at the discovery that somehow splatters of blood (she didn't know whose blood exactly) had found their way into her already extremely-bad-day hair. Trying to keep her injured arm as still as possible, she winced and picked up a small piece of something that looked like mortar out of her tangled locks and knowing there was no other place to dispose of it, casually pretended to drop it on the floor.

    Dishevelled and pale, with her bruised body, bandaged arm and ripped bloody clothes, she resembled a natural disaster survivor, or more suitably put according to her current situation and mood - victim. Loki stood tall and menacing in his battle mode regalia behind her, a perfect anthropomorphic personification of said natural disaster.

     "You said that I'm lucky to have never known true cruelty. Why?"

   The adrenaline rollercoaster of a day and the throbbing pain in her shattered bones were making Iskra experience a weird high: she felt queasy, yet her muscles were twitching with unspent energy, she felt worn out and ready to burst at the same time. And she felt bold. Reckless even.

   Loki ignored her question. She found his gaze in the mirror and fixed her eyes on it.

     "Did someone do something like this to you?"

     "Did someone make you beg?", he smirked back at her.

     "What...?"

     "You went berserk on me when I bid you to beg me for mercy. It was an irrational, foolish action, against all self-preservation instincts and sound reason. I could have killed you on the spot. There was no way for you to know that I'd take pity on you instead. A past event of significant emotional value must have provoked your reaction... So, who made you beg, what for and why?"

   Iskra's astonished face flushed red and she looked down at her feet, suddenly feeling uncomfortably self-conscious.

     "Never ask a question which you are not prepared to first answer yourself, slave girl."

   

  Mercifully, the elevator stopped and the doors slid open, interrupting Loki's interrogation and revealing the figure of a short red-haired woman dressed in a tight black catsuit.

     "Your Grace," she bowed her head curtly and entered the lift, nonchalantly positioning herself next to the king, and completely ignoring Iskra.

     "You are one minute late," he said.

     "You didn't give me much of a notice."

   The woman had a matter-of-fact tone to her voice and her face seemed to be etched with a slight frown that gave an edge to her graceful features. Her flaming red hair was beautifully coiffed and she carried her small athletic frame with deadly confidence. Iskra noticed a gun and a sheathed knife tucked into her belt, and the handle of a second blade poking out from the brim of one of her black leather boots. On her chest, she wore a small emblem of a spread-winged eagle.

     "The situation has been resolved and the perpetrators executed. Four Chitauri drones, twenty second floor. I believe they were the sole culprits." Loki announced.

     "What about Barry?"

   Loki raised an eyebrow at the redhaired woman in a way that clearly indicated he had no idea whatsoever or any intention, for that matter, of finding out who Barry was.

     "The missing lab worker?"

     "About that...," he paused and looked at the woman in black testingly, "...most of him was indeed missing by the time I got there. You'll need to send the cleaners. Make sure they're discreet."

   She nodded sternly.

     "I have to warn you, Your Grace, spirits and tempers have been running high in the tower. People are scared for their lives and are growing unrestful as we speak."

   The lift stopped again, presumably at the medical floor but just as the doors started to open, Loki waved his hand and they instantly froze, leaving only a finger-wide slit of light coming through from the fluorescent lights outside in the hallway.

   The strange woman still hadn't acknowledge Iskra with so much as a single glance. Iskra wondered if she had actually seen her at all. Perhaps, she thought, finding bloodied and battered half-naked women in Loki's presence was such a common occurrence that no one even batted an eyelid anymore. Or the redhead was just being a bitch. Both were equally possible, so Iskra shrugged and continued staring at the newcomer with hidden mistrust and unconcealed intetest. After all, she was the first person - the first human - she had seen in days.

   Loki inched toward the other woman ever so slightly and grabbed hold of her chin.

     "Inform those in charge that I will adress them promptly in the auditorium after I've dealt with..." he looked at Iskra and his lips stretched in a devious smile, "some unexpected personal matters."

    "So this is your new toy."

   The woman finally turned to Iskra's direction and granted her a look, "She's not one of ours," she added.  

    "You have an eye for detail, agent Romanoff," Loki noted slyly and moved his hand down from the redhead's chin to the zip which held the top part of her catsuit together. "She's one of Stark's whores."

   Iskra's stomach sank at the crude remark and she felt the pain coming from her arm take a back seat to the intensity of the emotional slap. She scrunched up the fingers of her good hand in a fist and summoned all her willpower in order to keep her indignation quiet.

   To add fuel to the fire, the redhaired woman gave out a mocking little snort and briefly looked her up and down.

     "I see she has been keeping you busy."

  Ms Romanoff, or whatever her name was, kept a poker face and tried to push Loki's hand away but her resistance only served to spur him on and he slowly dragged it down, unzipping her suit half-way open. He slid his hand underneath and cupped her breast. The woman stood still and seemed to keep her cool and only her ever-present shadow of a frown slightly deepening indicated that some sort of a turmoil was happening inside her mind.

  When Loki pulled the redhead's breast out and started rubbing it and squeezing it softly, Iskra felt a vehement impulse to avert her eyes and turn around but she found herself unable to move and unable to stop staring at her new acquaintance being unceremoniously groped in front of her. Worst of all, she actually felt aroused by the scene.

    "No time to play, Your Grace. If you please, l need to organize the disposal of the dead guards before the rest of the Chitauri find them. Things are tense as they are, it is not wise to provoke them unnecessary."

   The woman spoke calmly and confidently, perhaps a bit too confidently to actually appear calm but in that instant Iskra genuinely admired her cleverness and her composure. And the firm round shape of her boobs.

   Loki twirled the hardened nipple before letting go of the woman somewhat reluctantly. She quickly tucked herself in and pulled the zip of her suit back up.

    "I will let Helen know you are coming. And send Pepper with the rest of the wayward possee your way."

    "Oh, you do know how to ruin the mood."

   He waved his hand at the doors in the familiar matter and they hissed open. "Off you go, then."

  The redhead turned to Iskra and gave her an impassionate little nod, "It doesn't get any better, just so you know."

  Then she simply turned around and exited the elevator. A moment later she stopped in her tracks and turned around to face Loki again.

     "Your Grace," she whispered, her demeanour suddenly different, "our bargain...?"

   There was longing in her voice. The king eyed her up haughtily and then gave her a wicked smirk.

     "Agent Barton sends his regards, he's doing a terrific job down in the city of Washington DC. One might say he was born to coerce and subjugate."

   The frown on agent Romanoff's face dispelled and she nodded briefly but courteously before her lithe frame disappeared behind the closing doors of the lift.

     "Do you think she's annoyed at you for bringing me here?" Iskra asked not really expecting an answer.

     "I think she's relieved." Loki said amused.

 

   They went back up a floor and were now walking amidst the narrow corridors of the medical department which apparently spanned two floors. The pain was eating at Iskra's resilience and she had to stop a couple of times and lean onto Loki's shoulder for support. She suspected he could easily carry her to their designated destination but did not want to be seen by his subjects as getting close and personal with mortals and lowering himself to their level. Or God forbid as showing actual sympathy.

  Iskra was surprised by the multitude of people they passed along the way. There were medical workers, clerks, people in dark suits carrying weapons and even civilians. Most looked slightly agitated but nothing out of the ordinary, a few looked positively scared and some bore an indifferent expression to their faces, their eyes eerily glowing in blue. _The Chitauri mind_ _control technology_.

   More and more people kept appearing, presumably sent over this way by the redhaired woman. Iskra wanted to grill Loki about her and the bargain they had struck but her stomach protested violently every time she tried to open her mouth.

   They were eventually met by a beautiful dark haired lady in a white coat, under the name of Dr. Cho, judging by the name tag, who welcomed them into the Radiography department with a sour expression on her face.

    "What on Earth happened to you?"

    Iskra moved her eyes away from the doctor's inquisitive gaze and glared at her silent captor. He seemed to be revelling in her hapless attempts at hiding her embarrassment at the predicament she had found herself in.

    "I fell down the stairs," Iskra mumbled and unwillingly let the other woman pull Tony's coat off her shoulders.

   She heard Dr. Cho's gasp at the sight of her ripped and bloodied shirt.

    "Don't worry, that's not my blood," she clarified and tried smiling but managed only a pained grimace instead. "I mean, mostly not my blood."

    "When you are done with her arm, scan her brain for anomalies." Loki commanded.

    "Why, did she also happen to bump her head on her way down the stairs?"

   Loki gave the woman an ominous look that made her instantly regret her insolence and she backed away from him, mortified. "As you wish, Your Grace."

     "It's going to be a long, boring night. Let's not make it longer for you and less boring for me. If I'm not back by the time she's ready, bring her to the auditorium," was all Loki said before he grinned and turned around, then literally disappeared in a shimmering cloud of green and gold light.

    Iskra stared at the swirling, flickering particles in the air and once she was sure he was gone, let herself stoop down to the floor, thoroughly overwhelmed by the pain and unable to fight the nausea a second longer. Fortunately, the doctor shoved a paper container in front of her face just in time before was violently sick.

 

                                                                                              **_________________**

 

      She sat in Dr. Cho's office, enjoying a sandwich and a fortified milkshake drink which was apparently meant to be a meal in itself and studied the intricate lace pattern of the 3-D printed cast enveloping her arm. It was amazing how something so light and airy could be simultaneously so hard. Eventually she had to take her eyes off it because it gave her a surge of trypophobia.

     It had been three hours since the doctor and her male assistant had set her broken arm straight and put it into the cast and she could now feel the painkillers wearing off. They had put her in a hospital gown and cleaned up and disinfected the scratches on her back. Iskra certainly had a hard time explaining those; she had the feeling that they knew exactly what had transpired.

    She didn't want to feed their curiosity or wallow in their pity, and there was something else as well, especially regarding the doctor's behaviour - Iskra felt judged and disliked in her presence. She didn't quite understand why and it hurt her because she had expected more of a warm welcome from her first interactions with other fellow human beings since Loki took her. First, it was the black-clad agent woman, and now this. Tired and perplexed, she found herself thinking of the comfort of isolation Tony's den offered and that made her feel even worse.

    Earlier, after they had scanned her head, just as Loki had requested (she was still not sure why) and informed her with a clear sense of disinterest that she had no skull fractures or a concussion, Iskra had felt a slight atmosphere of lightheartedness difuse the tension for a short while and she had used that moment to ask as many questions as possible. It turned out they had known that she'd been brought to the tower. Gossip about the naked girl dragged in by a couple of Chitauri guards and delivered to Loki's private quarters had quickly gone around like wildfire.

   Yes, they had seen and heard Loki liaising with other women, but she was the first one to be openly brought to his room. No, they didn't know what had happened to the others. _Great_. Regarding the status of the residents of the tower, it seemed that Loki had struck some sort of an arrangement where they had been promised safety so long as they cooperated with the new king and assisted him in enforcing his power. Miss Potts, Tony's girlfriend was their appointed leader and she had also kept her position as a head of the media relations department, however this time around representing a different megalomaniac. Excluding the very first days of the invasion, there had been few other casualties and the majority of people silently obeyed Loki's orders and generally tried to stay out of his way. He was apparently extremely hard to please, condescending, hot-tempered, arrogant, and a massive prick to everyone but he did not go out of his way to torture and/or kill random people walking down the hallways like how Iskra had imagined him at first.

   However, they could not say the same about the hundreds of aliens inhabiting the now no-go zone of the twentieth and its adjacent floors. A few people had gone missing. Iskra sadly had to confirm that yes, she had witnessed the lab worker Barry's remains at the hands of the rogue guards, and yes, Loki had indeed taken them out.

   Their conversation soon fizzled out down to a series of yes and no questions and long pauses in between. Underneath all the ostentatious familiarity and reluctant care Iskra could feel that the doctor still measured her words carefully and treaded on eggshells every time the topic touched anything to do with the Asgardian prince. In the end Iskra decided to ask the one thing which had been playing on her mind since the first night she stepped in the tower.

   She warily looked around the empty room and lowered her voice, "And what happened to Mr. Stark?"

  The doctor studied her silently for an uncomfortable long while with an unreadable expression on her face and just when Iskra decided to change the subject and pretend she had never asked, the other woman said flatly:

    "He's being held in a cell somewhere down at the containment level. Together with a few other captives Loki uses as leverage when people misbehave."

  Iskra fidgeted back and forth in her chair unable to hide her relief and excitement.

    "Oh my God, I knew he was alive! There is still hope then! As long as he's alive people will..."

  Cho shushed her, her eyes suddenly cold and resentful.

   "Don't talk as if you're on our side, you shameless opportunistic slut! I know what you and your trampy friends have been up to, sneaking behind Pepper's back all this time. And now Tony's down and captured, his country and his home usurped, you somehow creep back into his very bed to lie down with the enemy instead," she nearly spat out, "I hope he breaks your neck next time! You deserve no less."

   Iskra stared at the woman in shock, completely taken aback by her cruel words. It almost felt like she had been punched in the face and her eyes watered accordingly. She wanted to shout mean words back at her, to defend herself, to say that she had been brought up here against her will, humiliated, threatened and mistreated just like everybody else. She wanted to yell at the pretentious stupid bitch and ask her why people like her always deemed the escorts immoral and never the client, why the call girls got the blame when the men were the ones cheating on their wives and girlfriends, that she was simply doing her job and could not care less where Tony Stark, Loki or any other person with a dick were sticking said dick and whether their insignificant others approved, that all she wanted was to be left in peace to live her life, mind her own business, pay her bills and watch her goddamn favourite TV shows and...and...

  She sprung up from the chair and headed for the door, pushing the doctor out of her way and ignoring her protestations, unable to comprehend a single word of what the woman was currently trying to say to her, her image completely blurred in Iskra's teary eyes and her voice muffled by Iskra's pounding heart. She ran out of the office, and kept running down the dimply lit corridors until she was completely and utterly lost.

  She kept looking for signs for the auditorium Loki had mentioned earlier but didn't see any. After a while, she found herself in front of a patch of elevators and sat down exhausted, her back against the wall. She decided to just stay there and wait until Loki realized she had gone missing again and sent someone to find her. She was deeply worried about what his reaction might be this time but at the same moment relished the possibility that she had landed Dr. Cho's skinny ass into big trouble for losing her.

  She shut her eyes and occupied herself with listening to her own breathing, since there were no other noises coming from the empty part of the building around her. 

  A hand on her shoulder startled her and she opened her eyes confused and not remembering where she was and how she had got there.

    "Do you happen to have a death wish?"

  It was the redhaired woman. She bent her head towards her shoulder and spoke to an invisible microphone: "I've got her. On my way back."

  Iskra grabbed her outstretched hand and pulled herself up.

   "I wasn't trying to escape, honestly, I just got lost," she muttered and followed agent Romanoff into the lift and then through new corridors and various passageways until they finally reached the tower's massive conference hall.

 

    "Things are not going well inside," the woman said, her hand on the door handle, frowning noticeably deeper than before, "People are going to die. And there's nothing I can do to stop it. You've any ideas?"

  Iskra frowned back at her, irate and utterly dumbfounded.

   "What the fuck can I do? Look at me!" she gestured angrily at her hospital gown and her arm cast.

   "I am looking at you. Desperate times call for desperate measures."

   "Oh, so you are now insulting me while asking for my help? What do you want me to do? Talk him out of murdering a bunch of snobbish rich arseholes? Why, so he could kill me instead? Tell me, why should I care about any of you anyway? I'm only one of Stark's whores, remember!!"

   "And they say not all blondes are idiots," the redhead huffed. "He's not going to kill you. He likes you."

   She grabbed Iskra's shaking hand and squeezed tightly, pulling her through the door.


	12. Sleeping With The Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! :P

                                                                                                        **Chapter Twelve**

                                                                                             Sleeping With The Enemy

 

 

      Fresh out of the shower, Iskra wrapped a towel around herself and came out of the bathroom.

   She found Loki, now free of his battle armour and helmet, holding an X-ray picture of her broken arm up towards the light.

   A faint glow coming from the coffee table nearby caught her eye and she stepped closer to investigate. It was the biggest book she had ever seen. It lay open to a page of beautifully calligraphed gold letters of a language she couldn't understand. Both the ink and the paper emitted a warm yellow light.

     "Give me your arm."

   His voice in her ear made her jump: she hadn't heard him walk up behind her. She turned around slowly and studied his face. He didn't look angry. Considering the most recent events, that was a sheer miracle, or he was once again playing a trick on her. She decided to be cautious.

     "It's fine, honestly, don't worry about it. They did a really good job with the..."

   He grabbed her good hand and pulled her closer to him, untucking the towel which fell useless to the floor.

      "Don't toy with my patientce, pet, especially after your performance down in the auditorium," his voice was silk but there was a spider waiting at the end of it.

   Iskra swallowed hard and presented him her arm, avoiding his eyes, and fixing hers on the lacy pattern of the cast around it. _My performance._

   Truth be told, she still had no idea how the whole thing had ended with no one getting killed or at least brutally maimed. It had happened, what, less than an hour before, yet in her head memories of it already had blurry edges and seemed distant, like those of her childhood, and she felt like a spectator going back through them, and not at all like the main character.

    Agent Romanoff had said "I have people in the crowd" and shoved and pushed them through the buzzing sea of angry people until they had stopped at the edge of the podium where Loki had been sat on a, she still could not get her head around it, something that looked like a golden throne. Dressed in his gleaming metal armour, helmet, breastplates, cape and all, he had leaned back, his legs spread wide like he truly owned the place, one arm holding the blue-gem screptre, the other one's elbow resting on his knee, rubbing his chin thoughtfully with his fingers while most likely deciding at which precise moment to rain brimstone and fire on every ignoble little human rat that had gathered there that night, having the audicity to incite disobedience and disrespect by means of pathetic whining and mar the king's disposition with their very presence.

   Then his eyes had moved to her and Iskra had thanked God, the angels, the archangels and the four horsemen of the Apocalypse that she had been blessed with a strong bladder.

  The touch of Loki's cold hands on both sides of the cast brought her temporarily back to the present.

     "This should not hurt but it might be uncomfortable," he warned. "I need you to stay still."

  She braced herself for excrutiating pain, just to be on the safe side, but just as he said there was none. All that she felt when tendrils of green light came out of his fingers and sunk into her skin was a slight electrifying tingle that made the hairs on her arm stand up and a cold sensation stir deep down in her bones. The tingling was in fact almost pleasant and then it quickly dissipated, leaving her arm weirdly itchy on the inside. Luckily, that didn't last long once he let go of her.

    "All done," he smirked, clearly brimming with pride at his accomplishment.

    Iskra straightened her arm and looked it up and down in amazement.

    "So all we need to do now is ask that b-", she stopped herself, "ask the doctor to take the cast off. Apparently it's incredibly hard and nearly impossible to break."

   Loki put his finger to the side of the cast, his lips still stretched in a self-satisfactory grin, and with a popping noise two long cracks appeared through the carbon fibre cast, essentially dividing it in two separate parts. One fell to the floor on its own, and the other one, he pushed down himself with a chuckle.

    "Oh."

  Before she had decided whether it was appropriate to thank Loki for fixing her arm when he was the one who broke it in the first place, he grabbed hold of her and pulled her toward him. The sensation of her body being pressed onto his leather clothes, was electrifying on her naked skin and her nipples perked up and stiffened.

  He lifted her chin up so she could look at his face and the intense stare of his mischievous green eyes held her in place like a second pair of hands.

    "You have been a naughty a girl. What shall I do with you?"

   Iskra's mind went back to the crowded conference hall, to Loki sitting in his throne like the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, to his face like thunder, to the throng of blue-eyed agents and Chitauri guards behind him, and the desperate sweaty faces of her fellow humans, grown foolishly brave and lost all precaution in their blind anger at the gruesome death of yet another number in their ranks. She had looked, deeply concerned, at the group of men and women in suits standing next to the side of Loki's seat of power, led by a skinny tall woman, blonde hair pulled back in a tight pony-tail: Tony's girlfriend. _This just keeps getting better and better by the minute_ , she had thought.

    Pepper had been spewing a tirade of complaints, gesticulating wildly, to the occasional approval of the mob of people below. When she had said that they were better off dead than being Loki's subjects, since they were being killed off one by one by the Chitauri anyway, Iskra had known that the line had been overstepped and hell was about to break loose.

     "Tell me, why did you do it?"

    Before the days of the invasion, had anyone asked her, she would have said that having to speak in public was her biggest fear, yet somehow Iskra had found herself climbing the steps to the podium and standing face to face with Miss Potts, under the glaring eyes of their irate king, a few juicy jeers aimed her way from the crowd below. She had vaguely thought of the back of her hospital gown not being well enough secured and wondered if people had got a good view of her naked ass.

_I have people in the crowd._ She had turned around, faced the vexed audience and loudly proclaimed that the only reason she and everyone else present was still alive had been Loki's blessed mercy and his undue protection from the bloodthirsty alien monsters. She had said she'd gladly be his loyal subject any day of the week than be turned into crab food. And then she had turned toward Loki and...knelt.

      "I...I," Iskra stuttered, "I didn't want anyone to get hurt."

    The first few seconds had been shrouded in silence, and she had shut her eyes and bowed her head down in preparation for her untimely demise, praying it be quick and painless when a few distant shouts of HAIL THE KING had erupted from different directions behind her, followed by the slow rumble of hundreds of voices and eventually more shouts.

      "Is that all?"

    No, it wasn't.

       "Yes," she said.

     When she had eventually dared to open her eyes, she had seen that everyone was down on their knees, including Pepper Potts and her entourage, and for the first time ever Loki's arrogant grin had warmed up her heart and made her smile in return.

      "I thought I warned you about lying to me," Loki purred and trailed his thumb along her jawline. "Why else?"

      "Because I didn't like to see them disrespect you," she looked away. "It felt wrong."

      "And...?"

   She moved her eyes back on to his.

      "And I wanted to see the bastards on their knees."

  He chuckled and drew her face closer to his, his lips now brushing against her ear.

     "That's more like it."

     "Did it please you?" she whispered.

     "It would have, had you not forgotten one little detail," he nibbled on her neck, his cool breath making her skin rise up in tiny goosebumps while at the same time igniting embers of desire in her lower belly. "You did not have your mouth around my cock."

   He wrapped his arm around her waist, scooped her up in a single motion and carried her to the bed.

   She winced when the cuts on her back touched the cool sheets and Loki's lips curled up in an impish smirk. Seeing her in pain clearly enticed him and the thought made her shiver.

   He loomed above her, still dressed in his official garbs, and used his hard and unrelenting knee to spread her legs open.

      "We will reenact the kneeling scene in due course, darling, do not fret," his voice was hoarse and heavy with desire, "however, for now I would like to claim what is mine."

   He lowered his body on top of hers, and rubbed the sizeable bulge behind his leather pants alongside the top of her thighs and along the soft, sensitive skin in between. His weight on top of her pushed her hard toward the matress - he was noticeably heavier than any normal person his height and size, and at first her eyes widened in fear of being crushed beneath him but she quickly noticed that he was aware of the problem and his effort to always keep his centre of gravity away from her was evident.

  She relaxed and didn't protest when he grabbed her wrists in one hand and pinned her arms above her. She closed her eyes, lost in the sensation of his mouth on her neck, alternating the soft wet pressure of his lips on her skin with the playful, yet hard attention of his teeth.

  The raw, supernatural, strength lurking within his digits, limbs and muscles terrified her and excited her at the same time. He was a cold-blooded killer, with the brute force of an angry god, able to snap necks and bones the way people snapped their fingers, and yet, here he was now, kissing her throat and palming at her breasts with unexpected tenderness, while she lay beneath him naked, helpless and exposed.

  He let go of her hands and the familiar shimmer of his magic enveloped his body, disappearing seconds later together with his clothes. Iskra could now feel his cold smooth skin on top of hers and the hardness of his impressive erection pressing into her thigh. He reached down and positioned himself at her entrance.

     "Wait," her voice trembled, "I need more time."

   Loki looked up at her, a cunning smile on his lips and fervid flames dancing in his eyes.

     "I know exactly what you need," he crooned and buried his face under her chin, licking and sucking the sensitive area where her neck connected to her shoulder.

    And then he bit her. Hard. Her eyes watered and Iskra whimpered, trying to push him off which only made him bear down harder. The pain quickened her breath and caused her body to stiffen. It also awakened a hungry feeling of emptiness deep down in her core and she found herself grinding her pelvis up needily toward his groin. Loki raised his head and with a gentle swipe removed the glistening beads pooling at her thick eyelashes, simultaneously slipping two fingers inside her. He growled in approval, relishing the corresponding moisture he encountered there.

    His mouth stretched in a knowing grin and he pulled out. Before she could object at the grievous feeling the withdrawl of his fingers created in her, he filled the void with the solid girth of his manhood, drawing a licentious moan from her parted lips which he quickly silenced with his own mouth.

   At first she felt uncomfortably full, and his deep thrusts combined with the crushing lathe of his kiss, overwhelmed and suffocated her. She wrapped her arms around his back and sqeezed hard in a counter attack to his earnestness. He eased off and they fell into an ardent rhythm. She held her own to every assailing thrust of his hips, and greedily lapped at his invading tongue, unbothered whether the metalic taste in her mouth was caused by the blood he had drawn earlier when biting her neck or by a new injury to her lips.

   Tangled in each other, their coupling was as much a union, as it was a battle. In an open bid to reinstate his dominance Loki grabbed her hair, and wrapped his other hand around her waist, roughly turning her over to her stomach. He positioned her rear slightly up, and keeping her in place with his hand underneath it, firmly pressed to her mound, took her from behind. The angle allowed him to bury himself in her to the hilt and she squirmed beneath him, every little nook and ridge of her channel full to the brim and conquered, tightly gripping his cock.

   He moved his hand from her hair to the nape of her neck and down the trail of her spine, caressing the scratches on her back along the way until he got to the level where her hands rested on the bed. He gathered her wrists behind her back and held them tight enough to make her wince, all the while without breaking or slowing down the unrelentless rhythmic pounding of his hips. Iskra shut her eyes and let the bubbling tension and unresolved conflict of the past few days, the suppressed emotions, the base desires, all the angst, flow through her like a torrent. Unhinged, uninhibited and unashamed, she took wanton pleasure in being owned and ravished.

   Just when she feared her body could not take any more, he leaned into her and slowed down, drawing out each stroke as far as he could, and used his thumb, amply doused in her slickness to gently massage her clit. She arched her back and writhed under his adept touch, the muscles in her lower body tightening up in anticipation of her oncoming release. From somewhere far away, she heard herself scream and utter half-words of incomprehensible nonsense while her strung-up nerves uncoiled in a violent and incandescent burst of ecstasy which pushed Loki into his own climax and he groaned sonorously in her ear while she felt him throb inside her.

   He gave her a few more languid thrusts after he was finished, then lay down beside her and pulled her into his arms, resting her head on his chest.

  Iskra let her body relax on top of his, completely worn out and spent, relishing the coolness of his seed on her still contracting walls. She closed her eyes and listened to the hypnotizing beat of his heart, trying to catch her breath and refusing to let any fears or worries about the world's and especially her own uncertain future ruin her brief moment of bliss, and then slowly let her mind dissolve into the nothingness of sleep.


	13. Seeing Double

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: rough oral sex and rapey vibes

                                                                                                        **Chapter Thirteen**

                                                                                                          Seeing Double

 

   The small, dimly lit room. The old mattress in the corner, the hastily discarded clothes, including her own, littering the floor. The laughter of her drunken friends coming from two doors down the hallway. Hadn't they noticed she had been gone for too long? Did they not care? And the unforgiving arms of steel around her body, holding her down, drowning her, bruising her. Then the voice, hot and hateful in her ear. "Beg me."

 

   She opened her heavy eyelids, confused at first and fearful that her nightmare had somehow materialized next to her in bed, then she blinked and sighed with relief. It was Loki. While trying hard to resist the urge to simply let her head drop back down and go back to sleep, she pondered the surreal circumstances of feeling relieved at the sight of her abductor.

  He was sat up, the blanket pulled up to his hip line, only just covering the bulge of his now flaccid yet still startling cock. He had his bare back resting at the headboard, propped up by a pillow and one hand holding an old-fashioned silver quill pen over a huge pile of neatly stacked official looking papers by his side.

   "What's the matter? Why did you wake me up?"

   "It's time you went to your bed, darling. I have important work to do and your boorish sleeping noises are distracting me."

   "I am in bed," Iskra mumbled and turned over, shutting her eyes, only to feel his hand on her shoulder.

   "I said _your_ bed."

 A feeling of deja vu flooded over her. Loki was kicking her out of his bed and banishing her to the sofa. Again. After they've just had sex. Un-fucking-believable.

   "What is your problem?" she turned back to face him. His dark hair cascaded down his shoulders in loose curls and gave him a carefree boyish look.

 He raised a questioning brow at her and gave her a smug smile. "I do not share my bed with anyone. Especially with...," he looked her up and down,"...your kind."

   "My kind?"

  She sat in bed upright and her face contorted in a pained expression, eyes treacherously stinging with the promise of tears.

   "You mean my being a whore?" she spat the word out like it was a mouthful of quinine.

  Iskra had spent years carefully laying the foundations of her self-esteem and building her confidence, layer by layer, brick by brick, and hell should freeze over before she let another asshole in this wretched tower, be it a woman, a man or a goddamn fucking alien humanoid, wreck her castle of worth with his prejudice and phoney prudishness.

   "I mean your being a human," he corrected her with a tedious exhalation, as if her inability to grasp such simple reasoning only confirmed the fact of her blatant inferiority.

  She blinked, uncertain whether his response added water or fuel to the fire of his initial insult.

   "If it bothers you so much then why did you bring me here in the first place?"

  He leaned towards her and took her chin in his hand, using his other one to trail a cool line down the side of her throat, his finger stopping at the painful spot above her clavicle where he had bitten her earlier.

   "My innate distaste for humanity is at war with this newfound feeling of fascination I have developed for your lowly world. You are a right, it bothers me immensely," he lightly pressed on the bruise and Iskra clenched her teeth resolved not to give him the satisfaction of wincing. "So I intend on keeping myself entertained as best as I can while waiting to see which one prevails. Boredom stifles the mind, they say."

  She wasn't going to give up. If he was set on seeing her distraught and defeated she'd rather he believe it was his brutality that had caused it and not his rejection.

   "Perhaps if you are indeed so squeamish about having to sleep next to a human, you shouldn't have fucked one."

   "Oh, I have no qualms about fucking you," he said matter-of-factly and substituted the satiny coolness of his lips for his finger.

   She let her head fall back, immersed in the bittersweet sensation of his kissing and suckling on her injured neck and vaguely mulled over the perplexing fact of how low his body temperature was despite his otherwise overly human appearance. She squeezed her thighs protectively in an involuntary reflex at the prospect of having to accommodate the generous proportions of Loki's arousal so soon after his earlier invasion had left her tangibly sore. The thought of being claimed by him again, however, excited her on a deep, primal level and she let the touch of his cold, silky-smooth length pressed against her thigh comfort her instead of scare her. 

  She was surprised when he suddenly withdrew and left her confused, panting and somewhat disappointed.

    "Once I've finished my royal duties, that is. Now off you go."

  Iskra jumped out of bed and pulled her pillow away in an overexaggerated manner. She flicked her hair and marched toward the sofa, all the while throwing toxic glares at Loki over her shoulder. He smirked and not in the least disconcerted continued going through the pile of documents at his side.

  She lay down and threw the fleecy blanket over her head. All of a sudden flashbacks from her nightmare filled her mind and she was overcome by a suffocating feeling of loneliness and despair. Her emotions swung wildly like the pendulum of an overwound grandfather clock. The uncertainty of Loki's fleeting affection pushed way past her stop-point and threw her already chaotic feelings into further disarray.

  She tried to steady her breathing and break the spell of the childish tantrum she had found herself locked in. _Don't give him the satisfaction and for the love of God stop embarrassing_ _yourself, girl!_ She decided to diffuse the turmoil in her mind by initiating some light conversation.

   "You know, your alien monster guards, they hate you." Her small talk skills were a solid eight. On the line of negative numbers.

   "Care to elaborate?"

   "When I mentioned your name to the one trying to kill me, you know, before you came and rescued me, he...umm," she looked carefully at Loki from under the cover, "...let's just say he didn't acknowledge you as his king."

   "Are you trying to vex me?" his lips were still curled up in a smile but his eyes were cold and piercing. "You should know better by now."

   Iskra sat up, wrapped up in the blanket, and pulled her legs towards her chest defensively. "No, not all, on the contrary - I'm trying to pledge my allegiance. I'm obviously on your side now, with my being your-," she paused awkwardly and had to force herself to utter the words, "-bed slave, and everything...If I encounter any more traitors in your ranks, I will let you know."

   "It's interesting you'd say that," Loki replied with pretend disinterest while signing away yet another piece of paper, "considering your overtly elated reaction at discovering that your former keeper, or shall I say benefactor, still lives."

    _Fuck._ That conversation was definitely not going the way she had imagined would win his affection. _That fucking Dr. Cho bitch!_  

   "What...you mean Tony Stark...he's not my...he wasn't...I barely know him! Damn it."

  Loki chuckled, put the quill down and fixed her with the impenetrable jade of his squinting eyes.

   "A little lost for words, are we?"

   "You know, that doctor lady did not respect your claim as king either. She called you _the enemy_." Iskra's face burnt with shame, she bet her cheeks resembled ripe tomatoes by then and she covered them with her hands. "Anyway, she only grassed me up because she hates me."

   "Or because she valued my claim enough to share that piece of important imformation with me. Or," he said icily, "valued her life enough.. I suppose, at the end of the day, it doesn't make much of a difference to me."

   "Why? Don't you want your subjects to love you instead of fear you?"

   "Fear inspires reverence."

   "And love - loyalty," Iskra didn't give in.

   "What in the Nine Realms gave you the preposterous idea that your people could ever love me?"

  He sounded properly angry now but once on a roll Iskra had the bad habit of saying things without thinking them over first and found it impossible to stop herself talking.

    "Well, for one, you are not a savage bloodthirsty half-wit like the Chitauri. You are not a monster."

   The excitement of their argument made her stand up and pace around the sofa in frustration under his scornful gaze.  

     "Oh, but I am. Keep going and you might have the misfortune of seeing that side of me yourself."

   She involuntary rubbed at her arm. "I already have!"

     "You have seen nothing yet!" he growled.

   Warning lights finally started going off in her mind and she sealed her mouth shut. _If he gets up from that bed I'm doomed_ , she heard herself think in the midst of the loud pounding of her heart.

     "Fuck my goddamn stupid mouth," she whispered to herself.

   She instantly regreted it and took a faltering step back when she saw the look on his face. It was a barely audible whisper, there was no way in hell a human ear could...she paused and did the mental equivalent of a dismissive hand wave.

     "That's one way to keep you quiet," he said with a promise - or a threat, she couldn't quite tell which.

   What unnerved her the most, however, were not his words, or the wolfish smirk on his face, but the fact that he did nothing to act on them. He just kept sitting in his bed, still holding the pile of documents, and did not seem in the slightest hurry to get up. Iskra wasn't sure if he was toying with her again, trying to coax some sort of a reaction out of her or simply weird her out. Or, the inconspicuous pile of papers was indeed of such paramount importance to the ruler of the Midgardian Kingdom of America, that he was actually about to not follow on with his threats.

  She found herself silently thanking the documentation, hoping that it was not a pile of execution orders that Loki was signing.

  At that thought Iskra felt an unexpected cold touch on her bare behind and nearly jumped out of her skin when she turned around and saw Loki standing behind her, now dressed in his leathers and metal clasps, another fiendish grin on his face. She looked back toward the bed and jumped again - Loki was still sitting propped up in bed, naked under the blanket, yet wearing the same grin as...she turned around again - no, she wasn't going insane, there were indeed two of them - two of him - in the room. _This is bad, this is really bad_ , she thought worryingly, as her heart sank and her hands suddenly felt clammy.

   "What the hell are you doing?" she spoke to Loki behind her, then reconsidered and addressed the one in bed instead since she deemed him the original.

   "Multitasking," he sniggered.

  Iskra shivered and exhaled sharply when the pair of leather-clad arms wrapped around her, the metal buckles cold and hard on her sore back.

  She had witnessed Loki's magic - his ability to conjure up objects and make them disappear, including vanishing his own self, his telekinetic power, his supernatural touch which could both hurt and heal at will; and she had heard about this too, in people's whispers, and once in a television broadcast, and yet to see it in person took her completely out of her comfort zone and right out terrified her.

  His hands slowly explored the curve of her hips, her taut stomach, moving up and down with her deep, laboured breaths, then his fingers found the firm globes of her breasts and assaulted them in a slow circular kneading motion until her nipples stood up painfully erect and he moved his ruthless attention to them.

  Across the room the other Loki was staring at her in contemplation, a cocky grin stretching his lips.

  She knew, technically, that they were the same person, somehow existing at two different places at the same time, or at least two parts of the same person, but the bigger part of her brain simply kept refusing to accept this notion and thus flooded her system with fight or flight hormones and waves of self-consciousness.

  Relishing her discomfort, Loki pulled her body flush against his and ground his hips against her behind until she became decidedly aware of his prominent erection.

    "Don't be shy," he whispered in her ear and lazily walked her to the sofa where he turned her around so she could face him and pushed her shoulders down gently but insistently until she sat down in front of him.

   While he was unbuckling his trousers she managed to steal a glance at the other Loki in bed, his focus now back on to his reading through and signing the papers. Not a trace of his wrath left in place, he looked positively cheerful and pleasantly occupied. She saw his lips gather up into a silent pout: the crafty bastard was humming to himself.

   Meanwhile Loki in front of her presented her with the daunting glory of his arousal, poking out from his undone breeches, and she found herself grateful at the moisture seeping out of his swollen tip, expertly using it to facilitate his rough entrance into her mouth.

   He felt and tasted just the same as before, however, his manner was completely different - she suspected it had everything to do with his current mood and what had recently unfolded between them, and nothing to do with the fact that he was Loki's duplicate. Still, the thought of it, once again unsettled her as her mind placed the man whose dick was currently edging towards the back of her tongue, dangerously close to the brink of the uncanny valley. _That's not the time to be freaking out, girl_!

   Iskra concentrated on the physicality of the situation, placing her hands at the back of his strained thighs and trying to fall into Loki's erratic rhythm.

   He lifted his foot and rested it next to her on the sofa, then somewhat forcefully, grabbed hold of her hair and pulled her head further into his crotch, thus freely entering her throat. She reflexively swallowed at the invasion and he groaned, twisting her locks around his fingers and tugging painfully at her scalp. Iskra whimpered and slapped at his leg, and he mercifully eased off a bit, pausing dutifully between thrusts to give her a chance to accomodate and recuperate.

  Due to the depth of his advances, she was unable to actively participate in the experience, all she could do was relax, to her best ability, her jaw and the muscles in her neck and accept what he was giving her. When eventually she lost track of her breathing due to her nose getting partially blocked which caused her to gag, Loki withdrew and yanked her head back so he could look into her tearful, frightened eyes.

  Ringed with inky, wet strands of dishevelled hair, his face glistened, triumphant and almost feral with lust as he leaned down and kissed her ferociously, once more taking her breath away, this time with his intrusive tongue.

  He used his knee to part her legs and positioned himself on top of her, pushing her down onto her back. She found herself pressed between the leather sofa and the firmness of his leather-clad body and an overwhelming, pin-prickly feeling of desire made her squirm and buck her hips towards him in a frenzied need to have the emptiness inside her filled. He slid his cock up and down her slick opening, maddeningly slow, without actually penetrating her, until she grabbed his face with quivering hands and breathlessly asked him to enter her.

   Loki rested his cool forehead on her burning one and looked into her pleading eyes. "I know you are too sore to take me, my little prattle-mouthed girl," he whispered coarsely at the oversensitive skin of her throat, while rubbing the thick head of his cock incessantly into her clitoris, and put his finger over her lips when she tried to protest. "Shhh."

    "Allow me to unburden you elseways," he grinned suggestively and moved down the sofa until she lost sight of his face in between her shaking thighs. She shut her eyes and whined in protest one more time before she heard him shush her again, this time, however, his voice came from the wrong direction. Startled, she flung her eyelids open and met the other Loki's green eyes, dark and hungry, gazing from above her, his lips stretched in an insidious smile.

   Iskra opened her mouth to speak but mirroring the gesture of his double, Loki used his finger to silence her and waited patiently until she started panting and groaning under his quantum twin's skillful oral frolics before he tenderly caressed the contours of her face and slowly pushed his throbbing silky length through her parted lips. She took it eagerly, licking and sucking thirstily, twirling her tongue along his rigid shaft and around the smoothness of his slick head. Unlike his other self, Loki who was still in the nude, his pale marble skin gleaming above her, leisurely and gently guided Iskra through the ordeal of his promise to keep her quiet, while at the same time paying due attention to her hardened nipples and kneading softly at her breasts. 

  It didn't take long before Loki's wild leather-clothed duplicate took her over the edge while sucking at her clit and working his dexterous fingers through her dripping folds and the vibrations of her muffled cries around Loki's cock brought on his own orgasm. He emptied his cool seed into her mouth and let her take her time drinking every last drop of it and dreamily lick him clean. 

  When she opened her eyes, their guest had disappeared and she felt Loki pull the blanket up to her chest and tuck a rogue strand of hair behind her ear.

   "Now go to sleep and don't say a word," he said before he dimmed the lights.


	14. A Liability

                                                                                                             **Chapter Fourteen**

                                                                                                               A Liability

   Loki's cold voice, unnervingly eloquent and full of loathing echoed around the dark room.

  At first Iskra, woken up by the volume and sheer menace of it, thought that he was speaking to her. She froze in place, unable to breathe, clutching the side of the sofa, in a futile search for comfort. As he continued talking, however, she realized, with near orgasmic feeling of relief, that the occasional silent pauses in his speech and the seemingly random changes to his tone indicated that he already had a companion.

     "Your force is not as formidable as you claimed."

  He paused and then his voice rose in angry accusation.

     "Unruly, is what they are. Mindless savages."

  Iskra's eyes were attracted to a glowing blue light in the direction of Loki's bed. Trying not to make any noise, she slowly sat up and squinted, trying to discern all the details darkness was hiding from her.

     "They bow to no one!" Loki hissed. "You promised me their unquestionable loyalty and obedience. You lied."

  She could see him now, a dark figure, outlined in blue, sat at the edge of the bed, legs spread wide and anchored to the floor, one arm holding the sceptre. She warily looked around in the dark. There was definitely no one else with them in the room. Loki was either experiencing some sort of somnambulism, or..

     "You don't have the Tesseract yet!" he snapped.

  This time when he paused, she could hear him draw in a deep breath, followed by a sharp exhale and a hiss through his clenched teeth.

     "I was a king! The rightful king of Asgard. Betrayed."

  Throwing all good reason aside, Iskra carefully got up and took a few small steps towards the bed. She wasn't entirely sure she did it out of her own free will either. She couldn't take her eyes off the glowing blue crystal at the top of Loki's staff. It almost felt like it was watching her back and calling her towards it.

     "The Chitauri want Earth as their own. They shall not have it," he continued, his voice lower and dripping with poison. "Expendable as they are, humans are under my rule now. No one takes what is mine."

   Iskra was now a few feet away from him and witnessed with growing unneasiness that his eyes were wide open. And glowing in the same blue colour as his sceptre.

  "That is not of your concern."

   There was something else in his voice now. Defence? Attempt at concealing embarrassment?

   "The whore is mine to do with as I please and you will not touch her."

  Iskra tripped over, utterly shocked to find herself part of the conversation, and nearly fell. She managed to regain her balance and stared at him petrified.

     "If she ever turns into a liability, I will kill her myself." Loki declared with iron determination.

   Her fear overrode the supernatural attraction she felt to the glowing gem and she took a step back. She decided the best thing to do was to go back to the sofa and pretend she was fast asleep.

    "Oh, believe me, I know pain."

   The way he said it made her skin break out in painful goosebumps. He leaned forward a bit in the darkness, like he wanted to further his point to whoever was listening to him speak at the otherside.

    "You are miskaken, I don't threaten, I simply..."

    His words got interrupted by a sudden invisible blow to his abdomen that took his breath away. Iskra stared terrified at his knuckles, growing bloodless, as he squeezed the staff in a vice-like grip.

    "Loki...?" she whispered, timidly.

    "I will not indulge you, creature. Crawl back from where..." he gasped and his head tilted to the side with a jerk. When he recuperated from whatever unpleasantry he was going through in his mind, his shoulders no longer appeared straightened back in his usual display of proud invincibility - they seemed to be slumping down and his breathing was growing increasingly erratic. At first glance it seemed his face had adopted a stoic expression but at a closer inspection Iskra noticed the pained crinkles around his eyes and the clenched jowls. A single tear rolled out from his eye and left a silvery trail down his pale cheek.

   A bundle of conflicting emotions erupted in her heart. She could easily retreat to her designated "bed" where he had exiled her hours ago and feign innocence and sleep. Ignorence was bliss, right? Loki most surely deserved to be brought down a notch from his high horse. She should gloat. She should revel seeing him humiliated and hurt. Yet...the idea of it deeply bothered her, just like it had bothered her the day before when she had seen Stark's employees defy him, or when she had wiped the blood off his face.

   She hesitated, stuck between the rock of his condescending insults and the hard place of his...she felt something tighten up and then relax in a delicious spasm in her lower belly at the memory of the ferocity with witch he had claimed her mouth. _What the hell is wrong with me?_   The hard place of his tenderness afterwards? Was it even real, did he genuinely care about her or was he simply playing good cop-bad cop in an attempt to further plunge her into the depths of the Stockholm syndrome she was already experiencing and groom her into his docile little sex pet slave?

   She licked her swollen lips and took a step forward.

     "Loki, wake up!"

  Iskra looked at the man's pale, almost luminescent skin, his lean muscles underneath straining with the impossible task of repulsing whatever was causing him excruciating pain, his smooth chest...If it wasn't for his laboured breathing she could have looked at him and thought he was a statue chiseled by Bernini's impossibly skillful hands. And just like a statue, he did not budge one little bit when she grabbed hold of his arm and tried to dislodge the sceptre from his fingers.

    "Wake up, damn it!"

  Iskra looked at his face again, exasperated and growing increasingly scared by his vacant blue eyes, the other one of which now starting to well up too. _To hell with it!_ She tried to shake him but it was like trying to shake a marble column, she pulled at his hair but couldn't actually move his head one inch. _I pray to God you remember this when you wake up, you prick,_ she half-smiled to herself and in a last desperate attempt to bring him back to reality she slapped him as hard as she could. The juicy smack on his cheek echoed in the darkness and only served to further chill her blood while she swore and frantically held her stinging hand to her chest.

  There was only one thing left to do - Iskra turned to the glowing crystal and fixed her eyes on to the swirling lines of pearlescent blue energy inside, and taking a deep breath, wrapped her shaking fingers around it and pulled hard.

   A bloodchurning animalistic screech terrorized her ears and she nearly lost consciousness when she felt the ground being pulled away from under her feet and all the air being violently pushed out of her lungs. She opened her eyes and found herself in space. Disoriented and incredulous, she looked around and noticed she was standing on a big piece of rock, surrounded by hundreds of smaller pieces of rock, floating around the black void of the cosmos above her, illuminated by thousands, no, millions of stars, and an eerie purple glow.

   A small distance away from her Loki knelt to the floor, violently shaking as a dark hooded figure crouched beside him, its waxy corpse-like double-thumbed hands wrapped around the king's forehead and hissing something indistinguishable in his ear. The creature lifted his head up, not enough for Iskra to see the upper part of his face, for which she was glad. The lower part showcased a deformed mouth spanning a row of half rotten sharp teeth and a hideous protuberance vaguely bearing a resemblance to a nose. The dark nostrils inhaled sharply and scrunched up together as the figure stared at her with invisible eyes.

  Before Iskra could even blink or draw in a breath herself, providing that there was anything to breathe in this forsaken nightmarish place, the creature pushed Loki to the ground with a gesture of disgust and bounded towards her. The movements of its body were disturbingly non-human and it half-ran, half-crawled with such speed that Iskra's eyes failed to register it properly, so it kind of seemed that the thing simply teleported right in front of her. Suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of putrid smell she faltered back just as the creature reached out for her throat with a predetory growl and a ghastly grin widely stretching its misshapen lipless mouth.

 

  She was still uncontrollably screaming when a sharp smart to her cheek brought her back to Tony Stark's den and she stared at Loki's concerned face looming above her in confusion, and felt his other hand, cool and reassuring, at the back of her neck, supporting her head.

    "Did you just slap me?"

   "I was simply returning the favour," he smirked.

  Despite the near complete abscence of light, now that the blue glow of the staff's crystal was gone, she could tell that his eyes had reverted back to their normal green colour.

    "What the hell just happened?" she whispered, breathlessly, while feeling at her throat and chest and looking around, making sure that the repugnant monster hadn't somehow followed them back.

    "What happened was that your stupidity nearly got you killed. Or worse. You asinine, pigheaded, demented cretin of a woman!"

 Iskra raised up her eye brows, wide-eyed and dumbstruck, and longingly hopeful. Was he worried about her? Was he actually showing concern? As if he had just read her thoughts, Loki abruptly pulled his hand out from under her nape, shook his head at his momentary lapse of control and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

    "I have enough on my huge plate of responsibilities as it is, without being inconvenienced by having to look for another whore to fuck in case you get obliterated by my nemesis' minions. From now on, try to not stick your nose where it does not belong."

  She didn't know if he was being cruel just so he could keep face or because he actually meant it, but the poisonous words lashed at her heart with the menacing force of the whip he had used to lacerate her back the other day.

  He pulled her off the floor roughly and walked her in the direction of the shower.

    "I can still smell him on you."

    "Him? Who was he?" Iskra said through a tightened throat.

    "Thanos's bootlicking toad of a servant. The Other. He will grovel at my feet one day and beg me for mercy, and I will take great pleasure in granting him none. I will prolong his agony until he can beg no more and until his screams have dried his wretched mouth more arid than the sands of time."

  Iskra shivered uncomfortably at the ice in Loki's voice and winced at the pure hatred towards the creature etched on her captor's face, so much that she paid no attention to the cold streams of water when Loki turned on the shower above them. He obviously shared some far from pleasant history with the fiend he called The Other.

    "I don't understand," Loki muttered while in the process of roughly soaping up and scrubbing both him- and herself, "when the Chitauri traitor tried to enchant your mind with the power of the Mind Stone back then, you were somehow immune to it, but you were not now! What has changed?!"

   Iskra, grieved by his earlier vicious retorts, and perhaps even more bewildered than him since she didn't fully understand what exactly had transpired once she had touched the dreadful blue jem, simply stared back at Loki, as he threaded his fingers through her hair, trying to untangle the wet locks from one another.

   His lips unexpectedly found hers under the unforgiving waterfall of cold water and he kissed her fervently, his earnest tongue probing her mouth with the seemingly ardent intent of never letting her breathe again. She grabbed the sides of his face in her small hands and pulled him even further in, and passionately kissed him back, all the while rubbing her smooth thigh against his growing erection.

    "No," he abruptly said, addressing himself rather than her, and broke their embrace, his face marred by a determined expression of foreboding.

   He grabbed her shoulders and roughly spun her round, pressing one hand between her shoulderblades and positioning the other firmly at the side of her hips, until she bent forward reluctantly and rested her hands on the tiled wall.

    "You will take me from behind, with your head bowed down, like the slave you are," he said sharply, and slammed into her, with not a sign of his previous consideration for her wellbeing or comfort.

    Iskra stifled a scream and grappled at the slippery tiles, desperately trying to keep herself upright, as he sent one brutal thrust after the other into her aching core. Thankful that he couldn't see her face, she let her tears fall hot and free down her chilled face and wondered if he, too, in return, was grateful that he couldn't see it.

   When not long after, he finished and withdrew from her, breathless and visibly unsettled, she calmy turned around to face him and finished rinsing her hair without saying a word.

     "I have urgent matters to attend to elsewhere," he stated matter-of-factly, "and you will stay here. Alone."

    Iskra's blood ran cold and she lost her resolve in an instant.

    "Please, don't lock me up in here again, I'll do anything you want, any other punishment, just not this, please!"

  Loki's face softened and he broke eye contact, perturbed by her big, baby-blue, pleading eyes.

    "I am not punishing you. The door will not be locked and you will have everything you need. Do not let anyone in, except for agent Ronanoff, she will look out for you and bring you food."

    "Why are you leaving then? Did I do something wrong?"

   Iskra mentally kicked herself in the mouth for letting the deplorable words out and letting the undeserved guilt and unreasonable fear of abandonment get the better of her, but it seemed like her brain had short-circuited to the scared little child, starved of affection and approval that lived inside her.

    "No," he unintentionally paused, as if looking for the right words, or trying to stop himself from uttering the wrong ones, "I just need some time on my own."

    "Why?"

    "So I don't have to kill you."


	15. Mind Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter sucked the life out of me, guys. It's kind of drawn out, but I thought it was somewhat necessary to move the plot forward. It's mostly dialogue between Iskra and the Black Widow, in which we learn a few bits about Iskra's past and that Natasha is a crazy manipulative BITCH. If you make it through, you are heroes. Also, smut is coming back in the next chapter ;)

                                                                                                                  **Chapter Fifteen**

                                                                                                                   Mind Games

 

  
           "Loki might be an alien-god from Asgard, but he's still a man." Agent Romanoff swirled the wine in her glass and took a measured sip. "And I know a thing or two about men. And, by the way, you can call me Natasha."

           "I know more than a thing or two about men, yet I still struggle to understand them." Iskra chuckled nervously, trying to break the ice and appear nonchalant. It wasn't working.

 

     They were sitting leisurely in front the big LED television, watching The Empire Strikes Back, Iskra tending to her second can of energy drink, while her companion was enjoying a bottle of vintage red. The woman-in-black, as Iskra, mentally referred to her guard (keeper, guest?) had been bringing her food and brief news about life in the tower for the last three days, and that evening had arrived with a basket containing two bottles of Bordeaux from Tony's reserve and a selection of cheeses, crackers and chocolates and an offer of a "friendly girl talk".    Reluctant at first to invite her in, Iskra had eventually capitulated, bored and anxious in her solitude and growing increasingly claustrophobic.

     At first they had discussed harmless topics, like the weather, which Iskra was especially interested in since she had been locked away in a windowless room for days, and then they had talked about the slightly less innocuous topic of the several unfortunate residents of the tower who had been eaten by the rogue Chitauri soldiers, or drones as Loki had called them. Then, about Pepper Potts' disgruntled posse's lucky escape from the king's anger, at which point Natasha had affectionately patted Iskra's back, and thus made her unvoluntarily flinch despite the cuts on it being nearly healed. The awkward moment had onset a heavy silence between them and at present they blindly stared at the screen where Luke Skywalker was gutting his dead ride in the snow.

            "Do you know where he is?" Iskra tried again, tentatively.

            "DC," Natasha's face was suddenly marred by unspoken sadness.

            "That's where Loki keeps your...your partner...the man you bargained for?"

            "My friend," the redhead corrected her with an icy frown. "What do you know of agent Barton?"

            "Nothing really...Loki is not exactly the talkative villain type," Iskra chuckled, then quickly resumed a solemn expression when she saw that Romanoff hadn't found her remark even remotely funny. "He didn't even tell me where he was going."

            "What did you do to him?"

           "What do you mean?"

            "He looked distraught. I'd never seen him in a more foul mood. We all know he has a temper, but something extreme must have happened that night."

      Iskra considered her options carefully. There was no way in hell she was going to talk about what had happened with Loki's sceptre. She no longer trusted anyone and she wasn't going to be surprised if it turned out in the end that Loki himself had ordered the woman-in-black to test her loyalty to him. _I still have to give her something though._

            "I slapped him on the face," she boldly declared. He didn't take it kindly."  
            "And?"

  
     Iskra looked around the room as if looking for an answer. There was none. "That's it."  
           "I'm not buying it."  
           "Why, you find it hard to believe I got tired of his shit and stuck up for myself?"  
           "Kind of. Also, all of your limbs are intact."

  
      Stunned, Iskra crossed her arms in front of her chest. She found it incredibly difficult to deal with rude people - she eyed up the bottle of wine longingly - especially when sober.

  
         "You know, you are seriously failing on the "friendly" front."  
         "I'm friendlier in times of peace. I'd rather be vigilant than friendly when living in a war zone."  
         "Does this mean you still work for S.H.I.E.L.D?" Iskra pointed at the eagle sigil stitched to Natasha's catsuit.  
         "Who told you about S.H.I.E.L.D?" the agent bristled up defensively.  
    Iskra gave the woman a cheeky smile and examined her nails. It felt good to hold the upper hand. "A little bird might have told me something."  
         "A metal bird, no doubt," Natasha waved her hand. "Tony Stark's balls and mouth go hand in hand - when his dick is out, he can't keep his tongue behind his teeth either. I should've guessed."  
    Iskra couldn't help herself and chuckled, "What are you saying - you've fucked him too?"   
          "Who hasn't?!" the redhead smiled broadly in response, while topping up her glass, "You should try this, it's worth tomorrow's headache."  
          "I don't drink," Iskra shook her head, "...anymore."  
          "You've been stuck here with His Infernal Majesty for what, more than a week now, and you refuse the chance to get hopelessly inebriated. Here, let me raise a toast to your true grit!" Natasha brought the rim of the glass to her red lips, then paused and eyed Iskra suspiciously. "Unless you've got your hands on a better kind of poison?"  
         "I wish," Iskra said with exaggerated gloom trailing her hands down her slim frame, currently dressed in one of Tony's Black Sabbath t-shirts and a black pair of his sweatpants, "God knows I need it".  
     She looked at Natasha and kept her brows furrowed in a pained expression until finally both women burst out in a fit of giggles, further diffusing the tension between them. However, it wasn't meant to last.

  
         "So what do you think he's up to?" Iskra couldn't help but ask.  
         "Most likely what every other man gets up to when they're trying to get a woman out from under their skin: fuck, fight, assert his authority, feed his ego, then fuck some more. Probably indulge in murder, if the situation allows it. Does it bother you?"  
         "Murder bothers me, yes."  
        "What about his fucking other women?"  
        "Why would it bother me?"  
     Why would it bother her indeed? Yet, it did. Even though she kept trying to tell herself otherwise. However, it wasn't the mere act of his shoving his cock into another woman that bothered her. It was whether he would let another woman sleep next to him, or let another woman rest her head on his chest, or tuck another woman's tangled locks of hair behind her ear, like he had done with her own. And kissing. Kissing bothered her deeply. In her line of work, she had become somewhat desensitized to dicks. She could mentally detach herself from the intimacy of having to accomodate a man's penis inside her: often it felt mechanical, sterile even, especially because she always used protection. If the man she was with was not particularly attractive, to put it mildly, she could even look at the funny, animalistic side of it, and thus make the time go faster. Kissing, on the other hand, was a whole different matter. It was not just having to endure another person's bodily part touching and entering her own without any barrier, but also the fact that she had to have their eyes so close to her own, watching her, probing her soul. It held a certain intimacy she could not escape from, a certain surrender, so she rarely allowed it in her practice.

  
     She shook her head with forced determination. She knew the spy in front of her could read her like a book, so there was not much point in lying. She was only going to bring further trouble upon herself.  
        "He can shove it wherever he wants, I don't care." she lied anyway. _A half truth holds more merit than a full lie_. "Can I have some wine, please?"  
       "I thought you said you didn't drink."  
       "I will tonight."

  
     Iskra smiled darkly as she sipped her first sip of alcohol in years. It tasted strikingly familiar and she relished the immediate warmth she felt as it trickled down towards her knotted stomach.

    They sat in silence for some time, absent-mindedly watching the end of the film, each of them paying more attention to the wine than to the food sitting mostly untouched next to them on the coffee table.

     "What would you say," Natasha said slyly, "if I told you I could safely sneak you out of this tower and let you loose in the city? I'll cut your hair short, dye it, give you a set of glasses, a false identity and enough money to pay the border control your way out into the free world?"  
    "I would say that your assumption of my stupidity is offensive," Iskra had hit the sweet spot of alcohol intoxication where she felt smarter, bolder and more eloquent. She knew, however, that only a few steps kept her away from the very steep slope of becoming the exact opposite of that should she continue drinking.  
    She took another sip from her glass. "Did he make you say this? Is this a test?"  
    "Yes, it was a test, and no, he didn't devise it. But in the event of his deciding to set you free himself, you have to promise me that you will refuse to go. You have to promise me that you'll stay."  
    "What are you trying to say? He's not going to let me go out of good will, is he? When he gets bored of me, he'll probably kill me. If he doesn't, the people outside this door will. Or the Chitauri." She let out a raucous, self-depricating laughter. "I'm not getting out of here alive, neither are you."  
   

   Natasha put her small hand on Iskra's shoulder and looked her dead in the eyes with the impatience of a strict mother.  
     "You can turn the tide in our favour. As much I hate to admit it, at the moment, you are our only hope. But you have to pull out all those aces you are hiding up your sleeves."  
     "Then we are all doomed, even if your plan were to work we cannot stop the Chitauri, not even with Loki on our side. And I suck at playing cards, and usually have no sleeves, he likes to keep me naked, in case you haven't noticed!"  
   She tugged at Tony's t-shirt's short sleeves and burst out laughing.  
   Natasha pulled the glass out of her hand. "You were right, that was a bad idea. Forget it. Enjoy your last few days as the king's disposable plaything as the world burns."

  She started to get up when Iskra reached for her hand.  
     "Wait! What can I do to help?"  
     "He likes to play mind games with you. I'd like you to play back."  
     "You want me to pretend I'm in love with him?" Iskra asked horrified. "How is this going to change anything? How is it going to help? I also thought you were on his side. You still secretly work for S.H.I.E.L.D, don't you?"  
     "I'm on _my_ side," Natasha said coldly, "and I work for myself, always have."  
     "And your friend's side, I presume. The world is crumbling to bits and you are doing all this to save one man's life?"  
     "Regimes fall every day. I tend not to weep over that, I'm Russian...or was. In difficult times people die either way, they always end up as fodder for their masters' cannons. But let's go back to Loki. He wants to rule. He wants to be worshipped. Loved. Revered. He wants people to prostrate before him, as if he were a god, or a rock star."

  
    Iskra chuckled and reached out for her confiscated drink but the woman-in-black pushed it further down the table, away from her.  
      "He wants his image etched on every coin and a statue of his liking poised in every town's square. He craves adoration. And this, I can understand, justify even. It's familiar, it's human. The Chitauri, however, they are nothing like us. They are a seething colony of coldblooded arthropods, all they want to do is eat, breed and spread like a rash, like a virus, chewing away the fabric of existence and spitting it out into their own image, building their own world, serving their colony. We are no more than food to them. Scraps at the bottom of the ocean. I believe, Loki himself, despises them too, just as much as we do. But he needs soldiers to rule. Perhaps we can find him a different army. And most of all, he needs someone to whisper all this into his ear and that someone then keeping me posted on whatever is going on in his head."

    Iskra tried to imagine Loki heeding her advice, while gazing at her with affectionate eyes and acting all lovey-dovey. The sheer ridiculousness of the image made her snort with laughter.  
      "Why do you think he cares about love?"  
   It all seemed unbelievably absurd and she kept chortling until an icy feeling crept up through her mind and her blood ran cold. Her amusement stayed put but only on the surface, inside, everything went dark and barren. In the middle of her pitch-black inner eye she saw Loki's haunted pale face while The Other was torturing his mind. She saw the single silver tear running down his marble cheek.  
      "Why didn't you do that yourself, you know, when he..." she paused, unable to formulate the right words.  
       "When he was fucking me?" Natasha said crudely. "It would have never worked. I'm not what he wants, or what he needs."  
     "And why do you think I am?"  
     "I'm still trying to work that out, although I do have a few ideas...like...this," Natasha said at the sight of Iskra's raised eye brow and slowly traced her collarbone with a finger, circling the fading bruise of Loki's bite on her neck with her thumb, "I could endure this. I could endure much more than this, much more than you could ever imagine. After all, it was part of my training. But..." she shook her head, "I could never enjoy it. I could never lose myself like that."  
    Iskra looked away, all of a sudden overcome by shame and unable to withstand the Black Widow's steely blue gaze.  
       "You don't understand, I have already lost myself, long time ago." she said, "I have nothing left to give."  
       "I do understand."  
       "Don't talk to me as if you know my life. You know nothing about me. I am not what you think I am."  
       "I know more than enough."  
    Natasha moved her eyes to the television screen in front of them and started speaking quickly and evenly, as if she was reciting from a teleprompter dossier about Iskra's past instead of witnessing the scene of Han Solo being frozen in a block of carbonite. "Born in Sofia. 31 years of age. Middle class family, well-educated parents and siblings. However, being the black sheep of said family, you barely pushed through high-school and dropped out of higher education after only three months. Various short-lived interests, accompanied by various short-lived jobs and even shorter relashionships. A few alcohol related social disturbances recorded by the local police. An unreported sexual assault. Nothing out of particular interest until your brief visit Stateside where you met a man you fell in love with. When you had to go back home you became increasingly unhinged. You dropped off the radar for a bit, then went to work as an escort, got meddled up with the wrong crowd which led you onto the path of crime and that's how you ended up coming back here. If we weren't living under an alien siege, I could get you arrested, imprisoned and eventually, after many years inside, deported."

   Iskra stared blankly at the red-haired agent, struggling to fully comprehend the words coming from her smug little mouth. "They', whoever they were, most likely what was left of  S.H.E.I.L.D after the invasion had conducted a thorough search on her life, unearthing no doubt any bit of compromising information they could find. She was in way deeper trouble than she had thought.  
      "Are you trying to blackmail me?"  
      "Take as a little bit of research I did in order to understand you better, or take it as you wish. Tell me, you paid your plane ticket and your Green Card with a crime, which had it gone wrong would have cost you your life. You sacrificed everything for one man's love, unrequited love, if I'm correct. Was it worth it?"  
     "I thought it was, at the time. I did love him," Iskra tried to collect her breath, and her thoughts, deeply shaken and irate at the intrusion and violation of her personal life, of her past, but yet somehow found herself unable to stop talking, "but I also wanted to run away from my old life, from all the mistakes I had made."  
      "And did you?"  
      "The man I loved married another woman. And I ended up making the same mistakes as before. But yes, it was worth it. I learned a lesson - you can't outrun your own shadow, no matter how fast you go, or how many borders you cross. So if you can't bear to look at it, there is only one thing you can do..."  
    Natasha sat still and didn't interrupt her for once, waiting patiently for her to finish, eyes burning with curiosity.  
      "...live in the dark," Iskra said, "because the brighter the lights around you, the darker your shadow gets. Perhaps we are not that different after all."

  
      "So this must be it then, what draws him to you."  
      "Pardon?" Iskra had difficulties following the woman's logic despite her being the one having consumed less wine, albeit not by choice. This whole conversation felt like a complex Game of Thrones sub-plot. One minute they were laughing together at a joke, next minute she was being threatened and blackmailed, and what was this now - mockery?  
      "An intriguing mixture of innocence and sin. A righteous criminal. A guileless whore. A child in a seductress' body." Natasha grinned.   
      "I swear to God, if one more person calls me a whore..."  
   The agent laughed wholeheartedly and patted Iskra's shoulder. "Don't worry, I'm in no position to judge you. You've been doing it for money, I've done it for information. We all do what we need to do to survive. But I have to ask you something. Even my most trusted sources could not unearth the answer to this question, and it's been eating me inside."  
     "Ask away."

    By this point Iskra had completely and utterly lost all hope to determine whether the former, or current, or...she didn't even care anymore...S.H.I.E.L.D agent was a friend or a foe. She could see why she and Loki couldn't possibly last in a relationship, real or fake - there was only so much two violent, manupiltive, arrogant sociopaths could share before ending up at each other's throats. The redhead must still mean something to him though, to keep her alive and right by his side, it was either pure respect, or the benefits outweighed the drawbacks, or a case of the old _Keep your friends close, and your enemies - closer_.  
    "When you hit rock bottom after finding out your "true love" had been playing you all along and was now happily married to another woman, and everything you had gone through for him was in vain, you went to work in that filthy Brownsville dump, where according to my sources five out of ten girls didn't make it out alive. How did you get out of there? How did you upgrade so quickly to the high-end club that Tony frequents? As far as I know, that's quite a rare occurence."  
     Iskra sighed heavily and started speaking mostly to appease her own nostalgic reminiscing, than Romanoff's curiosity.  
   "I had resigned to my fate. Yes, I could have been one of those dead girls, easily. But I got lucky. Mr DeAngelo, my current boss, pulled me out of there. He recruited me as one of his girls. He saved me. See, at Cogs and Rears we pride ourselves with our impeccable conduct. Whores with morals, as you would say, I suppose. Our clientele often consists of rich and influential people who often end up in a compromising position in our presence. They want to know that their privacy, belongings and wellbeing will not suffer, no matter what sort of debauchery they have plunged themselves into or how intoxicated and incapacitated they end up. Safety first, always after pleasure, of course. So one night Mr D. came to the grimy hellhole where I used to work. He looked around, played with a few girls, paid for separate audiences with each. I was the last in line. We were in one of the dirty little fuck-rooms inside the club, and he was a bit of an asshole to me, he told me he was having a shit day and that I sucked at sucking his dick," she laughed at the memory, it was a bittersweet sound, full of nostalgia, sorrow and glee, all woven into one. "Then he quickly left and while I was gathering my clothes, I saw his wallet on the floor. It was stuffed to the brim with $100 bills. I didn't give it to owner of the club, he was a crooked sneaky bastard who didn't care about keeping long-term clients. He actually prefered the one-offs, considering the seedy nature of the place. Instead, I went straight to Mr D.'s house and gave it back to him. He asked me why I'd done it. I told him it pained me to think about his shit day turning shittier by realizing he'd just accidentally paid more than two thousand bucks for a crappy blowjob. He laughed, and hired me that same night. Turned out he had left a wallet stuffed with cash and his address behind with each of the other girls. I was the only one who showed up. I owe him my life, he pulled me out of the swamp just when the mud had started finding its way down my throat."

    Natasha stared at her with a facial expression stuck in an awkward battle between pity and admiration. In the end, pity won.  
      "It's almost like throwing a lamb into a lion's den," she said with a sour grimace. "There's no sport in it."  
      "Can't you at least pretend to have some faith in me?"  
     Romanoff gave her a weary smile. "So you'll do it then? You'll be my little informant while playing a love-stricken damsel-in-distress?"

       "Do I really have a choice?"

       "See, you are clever. I don't know about Loki but if you betray me, I will destroy everything you hold dear before I snap your scrawny neck. Do you understand?"

      Iskra nodded wearily. She felt like was at the cusp of waking from a terrifying nightmare, yet no matter how hard she gave out silent screams and how much she tried to bid her leaden legs to run, she could not wake up. Could the bitch-in-black get to her family back home, or was she referring to her fellow girls at the bar, or both? And amidst all this there was Loki. She dared not imagine what he would do to her if he found out about her conspiring behind his back. And in the end she found herself scared that falling in love with the Devil could somehow turn out to be more than a game for her.

  
       "Let's start up easy. Give me a little demostration of your acting abilities," the spy rubbed her hands in anticipation, "What happened the night you slapped Loki?"  
       "Nothing happened," Iskra lied.  
       "Боже мой*, has anyone ever told you how terrible of a liar you are? Do you know what he calls himself? The God of Lies. And what do you call yourself? Jiminy fucking Cricket. This is never going to work."  
     Natasha buried her face in her hands, it was the most unnatural and unnerving thing Iskra had witnessed since the night when she'd seen Loki weeping. It made her skin crawl, and filled her heart with seething anger.  
      "You come here and insult me, toy with me, threaten me, try to get me drunk, and then take my goddamn drink away, threaten my friends and family, and now you are trying to make me feel guilty for being half a decent person. Did it ever cross your mind that perhaps we deserve everything we've got? That the aliens, the war, Loki, it's the equivalent of the biblical flood, coming to drown us all, to clean the world of people like you and me?! _How terrible of a liar you are_ ," she mocked with exaggerated high-pitched voice, "Better a terrible liar than a -"  
    Natasha looked up, leaned into Iskra's exasperated face and planted her big plump lips onto her chattering mouth. Iskra felt her warm fluttering tongue, sweet and heavy with the scent of red wine gently caress and suck her own. Before she could even consider whether to return the kiss or push her away, the woman-in-black withdrew and gave her a conspirational smile.  
"Good luck," was all she said before she quickly jumped up and headed for the exit.

    Iskra stood up, eager to follow her and demand answers, but froze in her tracks when she heard the big metal door hiss open, and saw Loki at the threshold, the strong light from the hallway behind him, framing his dark, towering figure like a halo.

 

*Боже мой - My God, in Russian


	16. Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki continues to be an asshole. Iskra recieves a gift and holds her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: discussion of suicide (with graphic details)  
> Another warning: mention of rape (although Loki would have probably called it seduction but yeah, you know)

                                                                                                            **Chapter Sixteen**  
                                                                                                              Mine

 

       Loki entered the room as the Black Widow made her way out, the only communication between them expressed by a slight nod of the head at each other's direction. He was wearing his usual arrogant smile and his official shoulder-padded long coat leather attire. It cost Iskra considerable effort to will her legs into submission and walk towards him in spite of the suffocating feeling of dread blooming in her like deadly nightshade. Reeling with resentment, anger and confusion after Natasha's assault on her mind, she told herself repeatedly that there was no way he could have heard their conversation, and that everything was going to be fine as long she stayed calm.  
     Still more than a little tipsy from the wine, she smiled invitingly and attempted a curtsy.  
      "Your Grace," she said, her heart galloping in a frenzy of both fear and excitement to see him, "it's good to have you back."  
     "So I see," the king intoned.  
   He slowly circled around her, arms behind his back, as a lupine smile stretched his thin lips and exposed his teeth in a predatory display of hunger.

     "Someone has been a very naughty girl."

    He put his right arm forward and with a quick flick of his wrist conjured up a sharp silver-handed dagger. Casually flipping it in the air and catching it with his other hand, he moved a step closer. Iskra instantly froze and followed the dance of the blade with a look of horror in his eyes. _He knows!_   _He's going to kill me!_   _Please God, let it be quick, let it be quick,_ she shut her eyes and frantically prayed. 

   In a flash, he was on her, his lips ghosting her neck, his long fingers lifting her chin up.   
      "Stay still," he whispered to her ear, making her skin painfully erupt in gooseflesh under his cold breath. "I don't recall granting you permission to wear these rags."

    _Tony's clothes_ \- she had forgotten all about them! She hadn't even realized she'd stopped breathing, until a feeling of painful tightening around her chest caused her to inhale deeply, the overwhelming relief of oxygen inflating her lungs making her giddy.  
    With adept hands Loki started cutting through the cotton t-shirt and sweatpants, the material roughly rubbing at the sensitive skin between her thighs as he pulled and tugged. Once all the clothes lay shredded at her feet, he took a step back, admiring her naked form with a leer of approval, then stretched his arm and carefully rested the tip of the blade onto her sternum.  
      "My disobedient, little slave girl," his voice was soft with feigned concern, "I think you need to be taught a lesson." Gazing coldly at her with his sharp emerald eyes, he ever so slightly pushed the piece of pointy metal forward, so that it dug painfully into the soft skin between her breasts every time her chest rose. "Are you afraid?"

     Resolved to keep her cool, now knowing that he wasn't really going to kill her, Iskra tried to slow down her shallow breathing and boldly said:  
       "I'm not afraid of you, I'm scared of the knife. Please, put it away."  
    He grinned as the dagger melted out of existence in a plume of dark green smoke.

        "Then you won't like my little gift..."  
        "What gift?" she raised an eye brow.

     Iskra cursed herself for letting her curiousity get the better of her but watched intently as Loki produced, out of thin air, a beautiful gold rectangular object, encrusted with tiny green gem stones. She reached out to touch it but he pulled his hand away and shook his finger at her.  
        "It's called the Viper," he said in a low voice, "and you must handle it with care because just like the snake, it bites."

  
     He smirked at her confused expression and pressed a concealed button at the side of the little metal contraption - and indeed, like a serpent's tongue, a solid flat blade darted out from the golden edge of the tool. Iskra startled at the sudden manifestation of two and a half inches of lethal sharpness the switchblade displayed and couldn't help but wince at the thought of what would have happened to her fingers had she managed to grab the thing as she'd intended and accidentally set it off in her excitement.

     Loki carefully placed the handle in her small hand and left his cool one linger on hers. Amidst the pleasant tingling of her captor's touch, the Viper felt heavy and foreign on her delicate skin.  
    "Just in case," he whispered, lips still curved up while the rest of his face was flexed in thoughtful severity, "you find yourself in deep trouble again without my being present to slap you out of harm's way."

  Iskra tried to imagine herself stabbing the sinister ghoulish figure of The Other or one of the hulking Chitauri lobster-brutes with the miniature weapon in her hand and quickly bit the inside of her cheek in a failed attempt to stifle an inapproriate surge of giggles.

    "Thank you, Your Grace," she hoped that addressing him properly would at least marginally lessen his undoubtedly impending anger at the blatant ingratitude and let's admit, outrageous blasphemy, of what she was about to say next: "but isn't it rather...small?"

    "I feel like I've never found myself in a situation where I've had to say this," he tried to keep his face stern but his eyes betrayed his increasing amusement, "and I don't think I ever will again but...it's not size that matters, it's how you wield it."

    Iskra burst out laughing, and soon Loki joined in: even though his was more of a composed chucke than a right out laugh, the smile on his face was genuine, giving his striking features a warm glow and a new underlayer of beauty resembling that of a dark angel. Iskra's stomach fluttered when she realized she had actually never seen him openly express such level of heartfelt joy up until that moment.   
  
      "I'm afraid I have no fighting skills," she kept chortling, "I'll probably end up stabbing myself instead."  
     "That is the plan."  
   Iskra fell quiet. _You just had to ruin the moment, didn't you?_   She glared at him with increasing indignity for a while until what he was implying finally hit home and she gasped.  
      "You mean what - kill myself as a last resort...if...if..," she found it difficult to finish, "if all hope is lost...if you are...gone?"  
      "Swift death is infinitely preferrable to finding yourself at The Other's mercy, especially now that he knows you are...," he paused, "in my possession."

  
   Iskra nodded silently and still clutching the switchblade, ran her right thumb down the underside of her left forearm and over the barely visible scars she bore there.  
      "Ok," she muttered, her voice on the cusp of breaking, "I could do this if I had to."

  
    Loki shook his head and seized her hand, bringing it up back to her chest, where he cradled it affectionately. Deftly, he touched the little gem that served as a release mechanism and the blade vanished with a low melodic clink.  
     "Should such dire circumstances befall you, my dear, I regret to say but time won't be on your side. Let me demonstrate a quicker way."  
   He gently ran the fingers of his other hand along her throat, exploring it, caressing it.

    Iskra inhaled sharply and shuddered uneasily under his cool touch.

       "This is ridiculous, I could never cut my own throat!" she glowered at him with hurtful accusation.  
       "You won't have to...cut it."  
    Holding her chin, he turned her head to the side, and trailed her jaw line until he reached the angle of her mandible and then continued upwards, stopping at the small dent below her earlobe. Placing his thumb on it, he locked his fingers around her throat and moved her head back to face him. Loki looked deep down into her frightened eyes, his black pupils two swirling singularities, aching to consume her soul and pull it behind the inescapable horizon of his dark mind, down to the roaring, blazing core of the unsatiable beast that dwelt inside him.

    Time slowed down and Iskra felt an eerie sensation of existing outside her body as he tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear and pressed the cold metal of the automatic knife to the square of burning skin, previously marked by his thumb.  
     "Right here, this way around. Remember, do it fast, don't hesitate. Push down, hard, to counteract the recoil, press the button and pull out, if you can. The blade will sever both your internal and external carotid arteries, which in turn will cut half the bloodflow to your face, neck and brain and rapidly lower your blood pressure. You will lose consciousness in seconds, and in a few more you'll be dead. If you do it properly, it won't even hurt."  
    Staring at each other's eyes, their breathing slowed down and deepened, and eventually synchronized as if they shared one pair of lungs. They stood like that, lost in each other, silent and still, for what felt like an eternity of doubtful consideration. At some point Iskra vaguely wondered if Loki had to fight the urge to actually press the button, just to see what happens, similar to the insidious guilt-inducing inclination one feels when stood next to another person at the edge of a precipice.

    "Now the trivialities are out of our way," Loki's velvety voice broke the spell, "let's proceed to the substance of the matter," the thin corners of his mouth stretched in the familiar I-have-dire-plans-for-you-lowly-mortal way and he replaced the chaste kiss of the metal on her neck with the sinful osculation of his own lips.  
   

    Iskra gasped at the contact and felt her knees grow dangerously weak as the coil in her lower belly tightened. She hadn't felt such a strong sensual and emotional response to another person for so long that she had become convinced that the "magic" was irrevocably lost to her and what's more, she had grown proud of her little hardened, frigid heart. _At least I'll never get hurt again_ , she liked to say to herself, while buying another tube of lube for work-related antics and the newest show DVD boxset at her local supermarket. "Netflix and chill, again, hmm?" the guy at the till would throw at her suggestively. Little did he know that she was probably the only person in the world to whom the phrase held only its literal meaning.  
   

   So when Loki effortlessly tucked one arm behind her traitorous joints and snuggly fit the other one around the small of her back, lifting her up and taking her to the sofa where he positioned her on his lap, Iskra was positively unnerved. Terrified even. _It's not real! It's a defense mechanism of my brain. Or the goddamn wine. Or my mind is subconsciously bending to the S.H.I.E.L.D bitch's will. I am not falling for him, I actually despise_ _him_ , she thought as he tightly wrapped his arms around her and pressed her flush to the bliss-inducing firmness of his leather-clad body. He thirstily sucked at her throat, nibbling at her shoulders and ran the cold palms of his hands back and forth her quivering thighs, straddled across his strong legs, and round the supple cheeks of her behind. She could feel his growing erection struggling for freedom underneath the material of his tight trousers. The sight of the sizeable bulge further stretching the black leather and in doing so revealing and enveloping every single detail of Loki's cock, like a layer of second skin, sent sparks down Iskra's spine and she wiggled out of his lap, bent down and started eagerly licking the beautiful haut-relief. Loki buried one hand in her hair and one in between her legs where he discovered with a guttural groan of approval that she was already wet.  
    "I take it this means you missed me."  
  Eyes glazed, dizzy with desire and emboldened by the alcohol, Iskra nodded, then nuzzled his taut thigh with her cheek like an enthusiastic cat in heat and gliding her trembling fingers up and down his length, purred:  
    "I take it this means you missed me too."  
    Something in his face made her heart sink and Natasha's words came hard and fast onto her mind like a mud torrent. Iskra pulled away from him and looked down, suddenly feeling self-conscious.  
     "Pet?"  
    When she didn't reply, Loki reached down and lifted her limp form back into his lap. Her legs spread wide, once again straddling his, he pulled her towards him so that her slick entrance was now tightly pressed onto the leather mountain of his cock. He started thrusting his hips forward, gently rocking Iskra's body back and forth, her pussy's slickness moisturizing the leather of his trousers with a scandalous squelching sound. He lifted up her chin and when she noticed his inquisitive emerald eyes burning with a cruel streak, she knew she had made a big mistake in showing her weakness.  
     "Is this jealousy I see?" he grinned, his voice buzzing with playfulness and avid amusement.  
   Iskra shook her head and tried hard to pretend the topic of their conversation was the epitome of blandness and boredom.  
     "Shall we see if you are telling the truth?" he leaned closer to her ear, all the while continuing the slow circular thrusting motion of his hips. "I had other plans in mind for disciplining you tonight but I'm enjoying this way too much, so they can wait. Do you want to know how I entertained myself while I was away?"

  
   He waved his hand above his straining trousers' crotch area and with the familiar shimmer of his magic, they were instantly undone, allowing his cock to finally spring free in all its florid, glistening glory. "Do you want to know how many times I gave others the honour of worshipping my cock? Of writhing and squirming beneath me while I took them again and again...and again.. until they'd lie breathless and spent, laden with my seed, with nothing more to offer to their king?"  
    Iskra tried to scoot away from his iron grip but all she managed to do was get herself more hot and bothered, and painfully excited as her folds kept scraping the supple surface of his hard leather-clad thigh while she struggled. His lips were now tenderly caressing her ear as he spoke his torturous, venomous words, which upset her and repulsed her, and yet somehow aroused her at the same time, making her feel dirty and cheap, and throwing her already conflicting thoughts into a maelstrom of maddening frenzy.

  
    "The first was business and pleasure combined," he continued as he slipped one big hand behind her and squeezed her ass hard, digging his fingers into her soft skin and making her wince, "I was burdened with the task to strip a pompous old fool who I, in my good will, had allocated as a head of a strategic state, of his pride."

    Loki moved his attention to her breasts and continued rocking his hips, as he twirled and tugged on her nipples. "Or his hide, if I had to, unless he agreed to part with his unreasonable demands, insulting my benevolence with..," he reached down and leisurely began stroking his cock as he spoke, "...his blatant insolence by declaring that I had to consult him when it came to matters regarding "his" land and "his" people. I promptly reminded him and his pretty young wife that his failure to use the correct possessive pronouns simply wouldn't do."

    Loki slammed the heavy tip of his dick on Iskra's swollen clitoris and she groaned wantonly, lifting her pelvis in eager anticipation of another blow, "Nothing is _yours,_ Senator, I reminded him," he gave Iskra's most sensitive spot another slap, "your title is _mine_ , your state is _mine_ ," and another, as Iskra panted helplessly, "your riches are _mine_ , your people are _mine_...Every single one of them, I said, is _mine_ ," Loki pushed gently so that only the tip of the large glistening head of his dick entered her, and when she tried to slide herself down the rest of his cock, he held her tight in place so she couldn't even move an inch.

   "Please," Iskra whimpered, the desperate need to feel her channel filled _,_ stretched _,_ taken _, now_ , overrode every other thought in her mind and she could barely hear what Loki was saying to her, let alone cared what happened to the unfortunate old man and his...

   "That's what his wife said when I did this -" Loki thrust his hips up as he lowered her down onto the rigid shaft of his thick cock and pushed down on her hips, slowly but insistently, until his length completely disappeared, buried inside her.

   She threw her head back with a whimper, overwhelmed by the sudden rapturous sensation of having the emptiness between her hungering walls finally filled and the pain of having to accomodate so much, so fast, into the tiny space inside her, and trying her best to ignore his words.

   "At first she begged me to stop, but as I kept fucking her," he rocked his hips further upward, "just like I'm fucking you now, she started pleading me not to."

   Iskra clenched her teeth, resolved not to utter a single word of protest and give him the pleasure of seeing her further humiliated. However, judging by Loki's fiendish grin and the devious glint of satisfaction in his eyes, she knew that the look on her face must have betrayed her. 

  
   "I didn't make him watch," he continued his poisonous tirade, "as I'd like to see myself as merciful, and the senator did ask for my mercy, dare I say, repeatedly, so I only let him listen instead. Oh," Loki smirked as he continued to ram into her, "I made him hear every single gasp, groan and grunt that left his precious little wife's lips..."   
  
    She turned her head to the side, unable to bear looking at him any longer. Loki wrapped a hand around her throat and pulled her burning face back in line with his icy gaze.  
    "You will look me in the eyes," he growled under his breath, "as I make you squeal and scream my name, as you come undone, again, and again before me, just like all the other little sl-"

   She slapped him hard across the face, using all the bitter chagrin she felt as momentum. It didn't do much, just like the last time she had done it, but at least it stopped him talking. 

    "Why do you want to hurt me?!" Iskra shouted, the tears in her eyes as much an attestation to her pain, as to her anger.

    Loki's face briefly froze in an almost comical expression of surprise, quickly followed by an even briefer look of what she could only describe as utter desolation, and he let go of her neck.

     "Because that's all I have to give."

     "No," she shook her head tiredly, "I don't believe it," and locking his objecting eyes to hers with a blazing gaze of determination, she grabbed his hands and placed them back on her hips, as she slowly, sensually started grinding into him.

    They built it up back to a steady rhythm and eventually he resumed his merciless pounding while Iskra arched her back and moaned. However, something wasn't quite right, something was missing. _So he thinks he's cursed?_ _Gives me a morcel of kindness, only to rip it out of my hands before I even have time to taste it and then makes me pay double the price!_ _Damn his_   _morose obstinate blackened little heart_ , Iskra thought, _damn him, and anyone and anything he's made his_ , she licked her lips, recalling the taste Natasha's fluttering tongue in her mouth, _tonight I am going to make him MINE!_ She looked him dead in the eyes as he gave her another forceful thrust that made all the soft parts of her body, especially her breasts, jolt upwards, and said with the most imperious voice she could muster "Tell me more."

    "Your Washington sluts," she elaborated when he raised a questioning brow at her, "Tell me how you fucked them, where you fucked them, how they squirmed. Tell me all!"

   Loki's lips curled into an appreciative grin, and with a flicker of sinful mischief in his eyes, he continued to unrelentingly ram his swollen cock inside her.  
    
   "You naughty girl," he purred in her ear, and pulled her face toward him, his thin lips, still smirking, collided with her plump ones and he greedily drank from her hot mouth.

     Determined to uphold her fragile triumph over her captor, Iskra placed her hands behind his shoulders in search for better leverage, just as he magicked away his clothes, digging her nails deep into his smooth skin and rode him, hard and fast, matching every brutal thrust of his with a determined sway of her own hips. She felt him bite her lip, most likely in response to her little act of violence towards his back but in spite of the pain and the metalic tang of blood in her mouth she didn't try to pull away from him, instead, she thrust her tongue deeper into the cavern of his cool mouth, entagling it with his, battling for power.

    His plan of humiliating and degrading her shattered, he stood up, holding her tight, her legs wrapped around his waist. Still impaled on his cock, Loki carried her to the bed and roughly placed her on the mattress, positioning himself on top of her.  
    For a short moment, before he resumed his ferocious pounding, Iskra saw his gleaming green eyes examine her features with something resembling...care? Longing? Warmth? Was she deluding herself? Was it all wishful thinking? It was difficult to say because the sight of the blood from her injured lip trickling down the corner of his smug smile and down his pale chin, kept distracting her and somewhat contradicted whatever gentle mirage she had just glimpsed in the stormy depths of his eyes.

  
    "Tell me more!" she commanded again and when she wrapped her arms around his neck and her slender thighs around the steely muscles of his bottom, he let her pull him down towards her warm soft skin, rounded breasts and parted lips.

   Somewhere in the midsts of Loki's feral growls, and Iskra's gasps and quiet wails, in between his frantic mumblings in her ear about the undoing of his other willing and not-so-willing conquests, he lost himself in the uncontrolled delirium of it all, and came, violently, turbulently, whispering ever so lightly but loud enough for her to hear the unnatural, coming from his shaking lips, sound of her name, again and again.


	17. In The Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst. Smut. Sexposition. Iskra makes a wish she might regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, the wonderful The-Dark-Becomes-You has created this beautiful work of art inspired by my humble fic. I am forever grateful, honoured and amazed by her talent! Please, enjoy!
> 
> https://dark-london.tumblr.com/post/167778560371/some-loki-art-for-my-new-friend-on-a03-if-you

                                                                                                                **Chapter Seventeen**

                                                                                                                   In The Shadows

 

      Iskra lay underneath Loki, triumphant to have turned the tables, and most certainly relieved that the punishing assault of his thrusts had ended. Determined not go down without a fight, he had counteracted every soft and gentle whisper of her name with a stroke, diametrically opposite in force and manner. Her walls, yearning for release that never came, albeit awfully sore from his inconsiderate ramming, quivered and clenched at the loss of his still throbbing cock when he pulled away from her.

     She tried to keep her shaking thighs stationary by clutching them together but her strained muscles had a mind of their own and every stubborn twitch added another streak of Loki's cool seed, seeping out from her burning core, trickling down her satin lips and shamelessly pooling in between her legs. She attempted to get up and find a towel to clean herself but Loki wrapped his arms around her thin waist and pulled her less than gently towards his still considerably impressive, even when half-hard, length. He dimmed the lights with a leisurely flick of his hand and draped the duvet over their pale bodies and entangled limbs and they lay, spooning, in silence.

     She closed her eyes, resolved to fall asleep before he decided to banish her to the sofa again but a drove of troubled thoughts invaded her head, pitching tents and lighting campfires in the clearing of her mind, and keeping slumber torturously away. Was he going to hold his perceived downfall against her and punish her for making him appear weak? Most likely, she feared. By now she knew that the only currency he accepted in exchange for kindness (or simply for not being a dick) in the high-walled, moated, picketed, stone-laid shop of his blackened heart, was pain. Both physical, and mental. However, what troubled her the most was having to walk the tightrope between staying in Loki's good books and fulfilling Black Widow's demands...She didn't need to pretend to have feelings for Loki, naturally, or brought on by the extreme situation she had found herself in, she already cared for him and was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt even when he behaved unreasonably.

    She found herself wanting to excuse his failings and misdemeaners, and searching for his higher motives, no mather how dubious. She found herself blaming circumstances and entities beyond his power and control for pushing him to do the things that he had done, that had caused him to ally himself with the dark forces of the Chitauri. She not longer saw him as evil, yes, he was arrogant, stubborn, egotistical, even cruel at times, but she was willing to forgive that because most of all she saw him as misunderstood. And most likely unfairly treated. She found herself in him.

    Natasha needn't know any of this. As far as the bitch-in-black was concerned Iskra would simply be following her instructions. And she would do her best not to disclose any information that could be seen as betrayal by their king. The redhead had called her dumb. Why disprove her? Blessed are the ignorant, bleesed are the meek. However, Iskra had never been good at make-believe, even as a child, and the prospect of having to put a front, and worse - keep it, terrified and repulsed her. _I should just tell him. Just tell him everything. But..._ Unreported sexual assault, the S.H.I.E.L.D spy had said. Unreported. No one knew about this, there were no records. She had never called the police, she hadn't even got herself checked at the hospital. No one knew. Except for her family and old friends back at home, that was.

    Iskra suppressed a sigh and an urge to push her bottom further into Loki's groin. Her slick centre throbbed and tingled with lust and unspent desires but also with the unmistakable sting of the worst case of friction burn she'd ever felt. The pain was so bad that it took her thoughts away from Natasha and...and she started considering actually asking him to do something about it with his magic healing abilities or at least take her back to the medical floor. She briefly imagined offering her go-to explanation of "I fell down the stairs" while feigning a shy smile at the doctor's doubtful face through her own legs up on the stirrups at the examination table and burst into giggles. Loki pulled her in closer and nuzzled the back of her neck. She could feel the curl of his cool lips on her skin.

     "Your mirthful disposition pleases me," he purred, "Not many women laugh in my presence."

   Iskra stopped laughing, suddenly overcome by a distant feeling of doom. _I just have to know_ , she thought anxiously.

     "What happened to all those women after you...you know...?"

     "After I dishonoured them in the most salacious way?" his voice was liquid sin in her ear.

    Iskra twitched as he put one big hand over the globe of her breast and the firm tips of his practised fingers closed around her nipple. "That's one way to put it," she softly exhaled as he squeezed.

     "They continued with their boring existence," he said dismissively, "as much living under an alien invasion allows for boredom, I suppose."

     "What about the senator's wife?"

     "She fainted somewhere between her fifth or sixth climax, if I recall correctly," Loki sounded immensely pleased with himself, "Then I went back to her husband, released his bonds and he bowed to me after putting his signature under all the right papers. He gave me his word he would abandon his unhealthy ambitions and that he would not strike another deal with the Chitauri without consulting me first..." _Aah, that's what bothered him so much_ , she mused, as Loki now tugged on both her stiffened nipples. "I believe he would not forego his promise," he continued, "especially after I mentioned that next time we'd meet he would be obliged to bring his daughter along too. You should have seen his face."

    Iskra let out an indignant huff and playfully pushed at his muscled chest as he chuckled.

     "I am fond of giving people second chances," Loki went on in good humour, "It gives my subjects the impression I rule with a gracious heart. It compels them to bow lower, work harder, grovel more, and ultimately when they fail, it makes me enjoy their punishment that much more."

    His words poured sweet poison in her ear, and she shivered as he reached down and busied himself with fondling her buttocks.

     "So you didn't...umm," she paused and fidgeted uneasily in his arms, looking for the least obnoxious word, "dispose of them?"

     "Murder my lovers? Your opinion of me, pains me, sweet pet. Especially when your own kind is infamously inclined to indulge in such heinous crimes. I have studied the depravity of your people. The horrors you are capable of inflicting on your fellow person are rivalled only by the most vile corruption and deviance I have witnessed during my time with Thanos and the Other. Perhaps this is what has attracted his morbid curiosity to your insignificant little planet." He paused for a moment and then said quietly, "As exhilarating taking someone life is, I tend to keep that for the battlefield. Or for those who wrongly believe they can stab me in the back. There are more than one ways to murder a person, the physical one often being the most merciful. But you wouldn't betray me, would you now, Darling? That would be most unfortunate."

     "No," she shook her head defensively, praying that his piercing eyes which could so easily see through her somehow stay blind to the image of Natasha's grinning face in her mind, "I wouldn't."

   He gave her the most disarming smile she had ever seen, which quickly acquired unsettling properties as the row of his overexposed teeth gleamed in the dimly lit room and the devilish glint in his emerald eyes reminded her of a predator salivating at the sight of his helpless meal.

     "So you have nothing to worry about then. You are safe. As long as you are here with me I won't let any harm come your way."

     "Do I have a choice?" she teased, trying to keep the conversation from tipping into the twilight zone again.

     "Do you want to have that choice?"

     "I want to stay here, with you."

   Loki looked deep into her wide, glistening eyes staring back at him in silent devotion and traced her parted lips with his thumb, pressing at the still bleeding mark he had left there earlier with his teeth until she winced. "I cannot promise you a happy ending. What I can promise is that it will most likely hurt."

     "Not more than having to leave you."

  Iskra felt his steel chest move behind her back as his breathing deepened and he moved his hand to her front.

    "I've been selfish, my Darling, I know your sweet little cunt is aching for me. Let me help you find your release."

     "No," both her voice and her hand tremored as she tried to push his insistent digits away, "Please. I can't, it hurts."

     "Shhh," he planted a gentle kiss on her shoulder, "Let me heal you."

   Iskra stilled as he cupped her mound with the palm of his cool hand and carefully splayed his fingers over her burning entrance. She inhaled sharply anticipating a prod or a nudge resulting in more pain to her already tormented lady parts. None came, so she relaxed into the soothing aura emanating from his cold hand. It felt like tiny electrical charges travelled from his fingers to the tingling skin of her silky folds, and she softly gasped in relief as the stinging melted away replaced by a sweet wave of pleasurable numbness.

    "Not quite done yet," Loki cooed in her ear, the velvety sound of his voice sinfully distorted by the wide grin of his lips, "I need to get closer to this little spot of discomfort hidden...just there..." He sunk two fingers deep into her centre, still luxuriantly slick with his thick seed from their earlier encounter.

    She let her head fall back on his chest and slackened her shoulders as the ameliorating energy of his magic sailed through the most visceral dimentions of her physicality. The chasteness of the act felt both exhilarating and frightening in its immense intimacy.

     "There", Loki said and their eyes finally met as he nestled closer into her, his fingers still inside her, a coy smile gracing his lips.

    Iskra's breathing quickened up in anticipation but he held his hand completely still as he kept grinning at her. "Take what is yours, Darling. Don't be shy."

    She took in a deep breath and bucked her hips towards his hand, timidly at first, then a bit faster, encouraged by Loki's expression of ravishing lust and his lascivious groans every time she shut her eyes and gasped with pleasure as she kept fucking his hand. Without losing his grip inside her, she turned around to face him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he slipped a third finger in and positioned his thumb on her clit, gently pushing the hood back and rubbing small circles around it with just the right amount of pressure. Iskra trembled and shook, unable to control the wanton moans coming out of her mouth and the maddening building of tension deep inside her belly and the base of her spine. She sought to kiss Loki, to ground herself to his cold lips before her soul floated away. She whimpered in protest when he put his other hand on her shoulder and stopped her.

     "I want to see your face when you come for your king, you little slut," he growled under his breath, and curving his middle finger inside her, pressed hard on that super sensitive spot at her front wall. Iskra's high-strung nerve endings exploded in a wild display of fireworks and she clung to Loki's chest as she came apart, shaking, writhing and arching her back as he admired the beautiful contortion of her glistening, rosy face in the throes of passion. When she finally leaned into him, breathless and spent, he buried his hands, one still slightly wet with her slickness into her hair, pulled her face back to his and kissed her. While sucking on his cool tongue, Iskra slowly came back down to her senses and became aware of his erection, tightly pressed into her smooth thigh. She reached down but Loki grabbed her hand and lifted it back up, bringing it to her lips.

     "No," he crooned and pushed two of his fingers together with one of her own into her mouth, "like this."

   He wrapped his other hand around her throat and let her suck for a while, relishing her little moans of pleasure as her eyelids fluttered and her cheeks hollowed around their fingers. Without letting go of her neck he got up and resting on his knees positioned his arousal above Iskra's face. He let her kiss the underside of his heavy shaft and run her hot tongue on the ridge beneath the thick head of his cock for a minute and then impatiently tilted her head back. Using his firm grip on her neck he guided his manhood all the way down her throat until she could feel the soft sensitive skin of his balls against her lips. She tried her best to relax and not panic at the sudden decrease of air flow in her body but it seemed that her distress was exactly what he was aiming for. She grabbed at his hand on her throat not to try and dislodge it, she knew well that was pointless, but simply to follow her brain's natural reflex and thus diminish the flow of adrenaline through her blood vessels at least a notch. The odd angle at which he held her head meant that Iskra found it a chore to breathe through her nose as his slow and rhythmic but powerful thrusts ploughed down her throat.

   He pulled out just when she saw the first bright dots of oxygen deprivation in her blackened field of vision and while she noisily inhaled the air around her in greedy gulps, Loki pushed her knees apart and with one measured roll of his hips buried his slick with her saliva cock deep inside her heat. Iskra threw her head back and with a feral, carnal groan pulled him in closer into her. The power of her arousal and the sweet sensation of being able to freely breathe again combined into a potent, raw desire to own him, to feel him fill her to the brim, to be owned...She scratched his back and he sunk his teeth into her neck as they both rode the waves of ecstasy together, as one.

 

                                                                                                                             ------

         "May I ask you something, your Grace?" Iskra stared at Loki's peaceful face in the dark, unable to fall asleep and fighting the ever-so-powerful urge to get up and pace up and down the room.

         "You may," he reluctantly opened his eyes and said tersely.

         "Why the Chitauri?"

      Loki lifted an elegant brow at her.

         "Why not your own people? Surely, it would have been easier for humanity to yield to a race that look and think like us. Isn't it true that not too long ago the people of Northern Europe worshipped your people as gods. And it would have been easier for you to-"

          " _My people_..," Loki spat out bitterly, interrupting her, "I am an outcast among _my people_. I was exiled."

       Iskra gulped and shivered in his suddenly unwelcoming arms. _Damn insomnia and my overactive brain!_ The tiny hairs behind her neck and all over her body rose up painfully in a futile attempt to protect her from the bone-chilling wave of cold emanating from his body. It felt like the temperature in the room had instantly fallen by 30 degrees and she could see her fluttering breath in front of his now frowning face.

        "Asgard is not what it once was. My father," he said the word as if it was a curse, "has grown weak. He has surrounded himself with fools and cravens, he thinks himself the beacon of light, the keeper of peace in the universe but he is the laughing stock of his enemies. The one-eyed fool throws feasts and banquets in the halls of his gilded palace while the monsters slowly creep through the shades and cracks of the world. When my crass brute of a brother lost the right to the throne, I was anointed the rightful king. Hadn't I been betrayed, I could have ruled Asgard with an iron fist and pushed the forces of evil back to where they'd crawled from. I could have brought real peace. I could have been loved by _my people_. And now," his face briefly wore the mask of a madman in the cold darkness around them, "they despise me. I am the monster in the shadows. I am the one who creeps in the dark. My claim to the throne of Asgard is as valid as my brother's and it will prevail. I will be the king I was born to be, or I will drag _my people_ down to Hel with me."

        The cold in his voice matched that in the heavy air around her but that wasn't what hurt her. What pierced her heart like a shard of black ice was the pain lurking at the back of his words, the invisible hand around his throat, making this mountain of a man in front of her, devine power and raw determination flowing through his veins instead of blood, sound like a lonesome little boy, like an abandoned child outside in the cold of winter, staring at a warm home and a heavy-laden table through a thick glass of shattered dreams and broken promises. That was how monsters were born, someone had once said to her - mind of a child, body of a giant and a broken heart.

      "I wish I knew more about your world," she mused, sadness morphing her voice into a gentle lulluby, "about your life. I wish I could ease your pain."

     "Be careful what you wish for," his voice was unkind, bordering on angry and she swore she saw a glimpse of fiery red in his dark, hostile eyes.

       He let go of her arms, lay down on his back and covered his face with his hands. Iskra deduced the safest option was to immediately remove herself from his presence but she lay petrified, as if on the cusp of fighting off a night terror. In the end she managed to open her mouth and speak despite only a whimpering whisper coming out from her lips:

      "Forgive me, your Grace. I did not mean to anger you. I better leave you rest in your bed."

     When she successfully managed to shuffle slightly to the side of the bed and then dangle one foot over the edge and out into the darkness of the room, Loki swiftly grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to her exact previous position.

     "Stay," he rasped. "Ease my pain."

     She looked at him suspiciously over her shoulder but whatever eerie phenomenon triggered by his anger she had experienced earlier, was now gone - the room was warm again and his eyes were positively green. He eyed her up and down with the same amount of suspicion, if not more, and finally relaxed his head on his pillow, his thick wavy black locks, encircling his pale face like a dark nimbus.

      "Now sleep," he ordered impatiently.

      "I ca-"

     The last thing she remembered was his icy palm on her heated forehead.

 

      _It was the most beautiful dream. She rarely had dreams like this. The shapes, the colours, the sun shining off every golden roof, every swirling spire...the wind on her face, the smells...Yes, she could actually sense an array of acute, pleasant scents in her dream. She inhaled deeply. Sweet flowers, sea foam, pine trees, fertile soil, ozone, leather, sunlight...did sunlight even smell? And horse. She could feel it now too, see it. The animal's beautiful dark mane swishing in the wind, the bridles, the saddle between her legs...Wait, that was not right - his legs. She looked at the strong lithe limbs striding the black horse, the leather boots covered in elaborate buckles in the stirrups and the long pale fingers holding the reins - she was a boy. She, no, he, the boy looked into the distance where blindingly gleaming under the sun an elaborate structure reached for the sky. It almost looked like a mountain, only made of gold. On closer inspection, he could distinguish all the domes, towers, hanging terraces, bridges, walls, windows and gates of his palatial home. He galloped towards it in a mad frenzy, and it didn't take long before Iskra realized that the boy that she was in this dream was racing someone towards the palace of gold. He looked to his side where another youth was fiercely spurring on a white horse and his heart filled up with a set of emotions, so savagely conflicting that the battle of contradictions actually caused a vivid physical sensation of pain in his chest: envy, pride, jealousy, love, admiration, searing hate. "You'll never beat me, brother!" the blond adolescent thundered at Iskra, at him, the pale boy, as the white stud overtook his black one, stirring up a huge cloud of dust, his red cape flapping wildly in the wind..._


	18. Let Them Go

**Chapter Eighteen**  
                                                                                                                         Let Them Go

 

_The air, the trees, the shimmering golden roofs of the houses, everything swirled around him as if someone was dusting the crumbs off the tablecloth of the world and he found himself stood in a small arena, a fighting pit, heaps of golden sand under his feet. A dull ache troubled his face and when he swiped his pale fingers across his lips and looked down at his hand, it was smeared with red. Red, as the tunic, the blond hulk of a youth wore, as he jumped from one foot to the other, fists tightly clenched and throwing punches at the air between them. "You fight like a maiden, brother!" He could hear someone behind him laugh - a tall man with unforgiving gray eyes, holding a long wooden stick, which he brought down on his back with a thump. "Shoulders straight, legs apart, boy," the man, their fighting instructor, croaked._   
_Another swirl of air, and more blows to his face, more thumps, more laughter in the distance, and a patronazing pat on his back, followed by the golden haired young man - his brother's thundering voice telling him to go practice the "women's arts" instead._   
_Then, a noble, ancient face, a stern face of marble, only seemingly sheathed in flesh, etched in wisdom and framed in cascading white hair, that pulled at memories of the old Orthodox church's icons Iskra's granmother used to make her cross herself to and kiss. The face of God. Only, with one eye, the lack of the other one, mercifully concealed by an intricate golden plate. The all seeing piercing blue orb gazed straight into her heart, into his heart, and filled him with reverence, awe...and the need to belong, to be loved, but also with a world-shattering, gaping void of a feeling that he wasn't enough. That he wasn't worthy. That he wasn't everything his brother was. His hopeful look would be met by a glare, his stretched arms would settle on the ancient one's shoulders in a one-sided embrace, a caustic pang of guilt would wind its trecherous way into his heart that Father was holding back at the rare times he offered him praise. His want of affection was amplified by his brother's overabundence of receiving it._

_He was secondborn, and he felt every implication that repugnant word bore like a shard of glass in his heart, like an everlasting splinter, stuck in his eye that always kept him at the brink of tears. Self-doubt followed him like a shadow, like a foul smell he just couldn't shake. There was something in him, something hidden, something different, something cold - something Father loathed more than he loved him._   
_And then there was she. A vision of gold, silk, sparkling sunlight and love. He would play with the soft curls of her long shimmering hair for hours on end if she'd let him, and sometimes she did. One look from her beautiful face would heal his aching heart just like her warm gentle hand would heal the repercussions of the fighting lessons with his brother. "Let me teach you more, my son," she whispered in his ear, her voice a ballad, a lullaby, sweeter than the sweetest birdsong, gentler than the morning breeze of the everlasting Asgardian summer. "Mother," he said, "they mock me, they'll laugh." She entwined her elegant hand into his little cold one and tendrils of green and gold light blossomed from the rosy tips of her fingers and travelled down his arm and into his chest, into his fluttering heart, filling him with determination, strength and burning fervor. "See if they'll laugh when you have them lying on their back, in the dust, at your feet." A familiar flame of mischief lit up her loving green eyes and he smiled._

    When Iskra woke up Loki was gone but the bed didn't feel empty. His pillow and the sheets still carried his scent and felt pleasantly cool to the touch when she wrapped herself around in them.

    Later on, in the evening, after a long day of rest, bath and dinner brought in by (luckily not Natasha!) a timid looking woman in an office suit, Iskra was leisurely resting on the big leather sofa, legs crossed over and up at the coffee table, watching Return of the Jedi, when she suddenly felt Loki's cold hands on her bare shoulders. He had been out all day and she was eager with desire and burning with curiosity to ask him about her dream. His memory? When she noticed the rare look of calm on his untroubled face she thought better of it. She reached up and rested her warm palms on his hands instead and leaned back in a timid anticipation of a kiss. Loki, however, seemed to be promptly engrosed in the TV. With every passing second on the screen, the expression of serenity he initially wore was being gradually replaced by confusion, a pinch of disgust and a general what-the-fuck-am-I-watching elevation of his brows.  
     "What sort of visual detritus is this?" he snorted at the sight of Jabba the Hut in his lair, surrounded by a group of even more weird looking alien thugs, dragging a chained, terrified-looking and half-naked Carrie Fisher into his flappy mollusc gut.  
    "It's actually pretty good," chirped Iskra, "My favourite childhood film. We can watch it together. Shall I rewind it?"  
 

   Loki ignored her question and kept staring, mesmerized, smirking at the scene of the poor alien dancer-woman being dropped through a hatch in the floor to her doom.  
     "Does this arouse you? Being collared like a dog and tethered to a monster?"  
   He skillfully kneaded at Iskra's tensed muscles, temptingly rolling the pads of his fingers from the top of her shoulders down to between her shoulder blades and then up again, and when she rested her head back to look at his face the lecherous glint she encountered in his dark eyes made her skin crawl.  
     "Are you aware that I am very proficient at changing my shape at will?" he purred into her neck.  
   It took her a moment to process what he was implying.  
      "Over my dead body!" Iskra pushed him away and jumped off the sofa, a look of sheer terror on her face.  
   To her utmost annoynce Loki gave out a joyous laugh and with one nimble move hurled his tall frame over the back of the sofa and took the space previously occupied by her.  
      "Come here, pet," he patted his lap, still chuckling playfully.

   Iskra looked him up and down with unhidden mistrust and eventually, reassured that there was no physical sign of him transitioning into a giant alien slug, did as he said and sat between his rock-hard thighs. As it soon became obvious, they were not the only thing that was hard.  
     "I have something for you," he drawled and gently licked and kissed the sore spot on her neck where he had left his teeth mark the night before.  
   His silky cold lips felt like heaven on her tender skin and she buried her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer and inhaling his intoxicating scent of electric storms and feral lust.  
    "Let me guess," she half-moaned, half-chuckled, "it's a cyanide capsule I have to stick in a false tooth?"

    Loki sunk his very real teeth right where she was most sore and Iskra let out a quiet welp but didn't pull away.  
     "Do you find ending one's own existence at the threat of inconceivable tortures amusing, my insolent slave girl? I could make you kiss my feet and beg me for a poison pill, if I so wished," he scolded her playfully and gave her another bite.  
    The king reached between her legs and inserted two long, large fingers inside her with virtually no resistence.  
    "You are dripping wet, you pain-hungry slut," he growled. "I will make your pretty eyes weep just as much as your tight little quim does before you come apart, screaming my name...but first..," he reluctantly pulled away from her throat and flicked his left hand in front of her bemused face. The other one was still down, busy between her legs, his fingers idly sliding in and out of her.

   Iskra eyed the thin black object in his fingers.  
      "One call", Loki crooned and snapped Tony's satellite phone open.  
   She stared at him in utter shock and disbelief.  
       "Please, tell me this isn't a trick," she whispered, stunned, her eyes filling up with tears and hope.  
    Loki passed the mobile into her trembling hand, while keeping the thrusts of his fingers in and out of her set in a steady rhythm. Iskra held the phone cautiously as if handling a grenade, or a toxic piece of radioactive garbage. She absent-mindedly ran her thumb over the display, then sighed deeply and tried to pass it back to Loki with a defeated look on her face.  
     "Do not fret, Darling, although not gratuitious, my offer is sincere."  
     "It's not that...I..," she squirmed, "I don't know the number I want to call off my head...or any other number for that matter...except...for my own. I'm useless," she shut her eyes and felt hot tears rolling down her burning cheeks.  
    She had shut out any thoughts about the outside world, willfully, in an attempt to protect herself while being kept as a shut-in against her will. Now all the bottled up feelings shook and bubbled inside her, threatening to explode into an unreserved mental collapse. And she was about to lose this one little glimmer of freedom all thanks to her stupid brain, she thought - she couldn't even memorize her friends' birthdays, let alone their telephone numbers...  
     "Useless?" Loki teased, and moved his thumb to her clit, bathing the little red bud in her own slick, "I could think of more than a few ways to make good use of you, my dear. Now look at the last conversation."

     Iskra moaned softly as she opened the logs bar and glared at a picture of a pair of boobs in a black lacy bra next to the name Big Tits Ash. Who the hell was Big Tits Ash and what was Loki playing at? And why did she feel like she had seen that bra before? She rubbed at her temple distractedly, and feeling like her heart was going to burst through her chest, clicked on the entry.  
    Conversation was a strong word. Monologue suited it better. It was a long array of messages sent by the big-boobed woman in the black bra: she had kept going on and on, never giving up, despite never receiving a reply.  
_"Tony?"_  
 _"Tony?!"_  
 _"Please, reply!"_  
 _"I know u r there, ur phone is on."_  
 _"Tony? R u ok?"_  
 _"I saw the news, the aliens r in ur tower! Pick up ur phone!!"_  
 _"Tony Stark, I swear to God, reply."_  
 _"Please, tell me u r alive."_  
 _"ARE YOU OK?"_  
 _"Tony???!!!"_  
 _"Tony, my son asked me tonight if Iron Man is dead. Pick up the GODDAMN phone!!"_  
 _"Fuck you, Stark."_  
 _"Miss u so much, I hope u r ok."_  
 _"Damn it, I'm drunk, u r not here and Bernie's been attacked, everyone's dead."_  
 _"Tony, u if u r reading this, I just wanted to say...I love u"_  
 _"Tony, I know u r alive, I don't care what anyone says."_  
 _"Tony"_  
 _"Tony, the crazy god dude just kidnapped Iskra!!!"_

   She kept scrolling through Ashley's ravings, amazed and exhilarated, and when Loki's talented fingers brought her to her first orgasm she shook and thrashed in his lap completely taken by surpise at her unexpected, rapturous release. Trying to keep herself from tumbling off his lap, she grabbed at the metal buckles of his leather coat and accidentally dropped the phone. Loki reached out, caught it mid-air, pressed the green phone handle button next to Big Tits Ash's lacy boobs and put the mobile to Iskra's ear.

    It rang for an excruciatingly long time and Iskra was convinced that it would go through to voicemail with an undignified beep and break her heart when...  
      "...Tony?" her friend's voice sounded as if she'd just seen a ghost. Or been called by a ghost. "Is that you?"  
      "Ashley, it's me!" she heard herself speak with a trembling voice that didn't even sound like her own.  
    Rapid shallow breathing on the line. Then silence.  
      "Ashley?" Iskra tried again, gingerly.  
    The phone speakers erupted with Ashley's cheering and insane screams of joy.  
       "Oh my fucking God!!! I knew it, I fucking knew it! Guuuuyyyys!!! It's Iskra! She's alive! Yes, she's on the fucking phone! Where else would she be? Screw the client and bring your ass over here! She's alive!!!"  
   

    They talked and cried, declared their love to one another, then talked again, and cried some more, all the while Loki, who had relinquished control over the phone in exchange of full access to Iskra's throbbing core which he was currently stuffing full of his mammoth erection, ran his cool hands over her quivering pale body, prying her stiff nipples up and gently squeezing her throat and breasts as she spoke.  
    She shied away from some of the girls' and Mr D.'s questions, explaining that she wasn't, as they could most likely guess, alone, and yes, her abductor was very much in earshot. Loki mischievously snickered when her friends asked what was the reason behind her labourious breathing and Iskra mumbled something about staircases. Eventually, their chat took on a playful, carelfree direction and they laughed and joked just as they would have on any regular day, when no one had been threatened with alien annihilation or forced into sexual slavery.

   "Shut up, Lizzie! Ok, all right, I'll ask...Lizzie wants to know...how big is his cock?" Ashley said through sputters of mad giggles in the background.

   Iskra looked back at Loki's face, which was fixed in an expression of wanton lust and feral determination to fuck her into oblivion. A minute smile rose on his lips, as he overheard the girls' banter, and curled them up into a grin, threatening to break his stern concentration. Iskra burst out laughing, her spasming muscles squeezing Loki's cock tighter and tighter inside her scorching centre until a licentious, guttural growl escaped his throat, and he coated her walls with copious spurts of his thick, cool seed.

   "Tell her it's as big as she imagines...then two inches longer," Iskra panted into the phone, as Loki wrapped his arms around her waist, and buried his face in her neck while slowly sliding in and out of her, until he created a creamy puddle of mess on the black leather of the sofa and his trousers, the look of which wound another round of highly-strung wire to the tight coil in her belly.

    She could hear Ashley and the others sniggering down the line.

   "Lizzie, Iskra says it's so big that will make your loose vag feel as taut as an anus surprised on a wedding night!" her friend taunted the old gal as more laughter ensued.

   "You crazy bitches, you're going to make me piss myself!"

   "Well, lay off the monster cock before you get double incontinence, hun," she heard Lizzie's delightful raspy voice down the line, "or you know, share the burden. I'll do him free of charge."

 

     As they were about to say goodbye to one another and just as Loki frantically rubbed Iskra's sweet spot towards her second, and wildly anticipated orgasm, Ashley whispered down the phone, the playfulness and silliness in her voice replaced by a solemn declaration of conviction:  
     "I know you can't tell me now but I am sure Tony is alive, just like I was sure you were alive. The night you left, I spoke to Mr D. and after what he said I knew Loki wouldn't harm you. Perhaps he's not that bad after all."  
    "What...did...he...say?" Iskra tried her best to speak coherently and feign being overcome by sudden exhaustion instead of actually exhausting herself being overcome by...coming. Vaguely, as her body danced in the rain of endorphins her brain fired abundantly, she thought that she had probably failed at the task and that her friend knew exactly what was going on. However, it seemed that what Ashley had to say held such importance to her that her otherwise frisky friend kept her earnest tone throughout. Mostly, at least.  
     "Remember how just before he picked you that night he let a few of us go? You must have wondered why, and no, it wasn't because he thought we were swamp donkeys, you cheeky bitch. Apparently he asked Mr D. which ones of us had kids, and then said to him "Let the mothers go." I bet that will tickle you deeper than his monster dick could ever go."  
And with that, Big Tits Ash hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this chapter, and especially the phone conversation scene to my dearest sweet Caffiend.  
> The formidable assets of her gloriously wicked and delectable Mr Thomas Pine from her brilliant British Jaguar Villains fic Not Going To Happen https://archiveofourown.org/works/6317746 forever inspired my imagination. Thank you, Caff!


	19. Cosplay And Death In The Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plot, gore, evil villainy. Beware.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: implied torture (it even disturbed me, and I wrote it, but it's necessary for the plot, so there)  
> Warning: gruesome death scene  
> Warning: no smut (there will be next time, I promise)
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this chapter, I hope you like it too :)

                                                                                                        **Chapter Nineteen**

                                                                                             Cosplay And Death In The Tower

 

     Soon after the telephone conversation with her friends had ended, Loki was called to tend to "urgent matters" at his designated throne room in the audiotirium, and Iskra was once again left companionless. She went to have a shower and cool down her staggared mind and more or less haggard body.   

    The girls were ok, and she was glad that Jesse had settled in nicely into the job. There had been no more visits from the Chitauri, or the re-organized under Loki's rule city police. No one had bothered them. I was almost like...No, she shook her head, she didn't think he'd go to such lengths. And yet, _"Let the mothers go."_   That was what he had whispered into her boss's ear the night he had taken her away with him. A glimpse of the last night's dream flashed in her mind: shimmering gold hair, a gentle hand, a silky soothing voice. Then an overwhelming feeling of loneliness engulfed her and forced her to her knees. _How many times are you going to cry in this damned shower, girl?_ At this point she couldn't even tell if the wet drops on Tony's fancy marble floor tiles were water or tears. Tony...She knew that Ashley had been crushing on him, ok, had been in love with him, but she didn't know she had broken the Code. Tony had given her his number. He could have simply called the club's number any time he wanted to see her and asked for Ashley's company.

    Iskra was not one for sticking blindly to the rules. In fact, she despised authority. She only followed rules that made sense and didn't go against her better judgement. And she wasn't jealous of her friend's secret relationship with Stark because she felt something for him herself or anything of the sort, she didn't. She was jealous of the relationship itself. Even if it was a flawed relationship, considering Stark was meant to already be taken. Most of all what hurt her was the fact that she had told herself countless times that she was passed those things, that she didn't care for love anymore, that she didn't need love, that she didn't need anyone to love her, that she was self-sufficient.

    And now, here she was, on her knees in the shower, sobbing like a baby over her failed personal life. Loki was going to break her heart, she knew it. She would fall hopelessly in love with the man, the god, or whatever he was, and then he would shun her away. He would take whatever he needed, a slither of affection, a smidgen of warmth, a glimmer of hope, whatever he thought his cold heart yearned for, whatever he was missing inside the void of his soul, and once he was satisfied he could suck no more out of her, he would let her go. _There are_   _more than one ways to murder a person_ , she very well knew that, for she had been dead inside for the longest time. And now she feared it would actually kill her for real to die again.

   

    Iskra came out of the shower, wrapped in a big towel, a smaller one around her wet hair, then tripped and nearly fell, startled to see Loki, dressed in his official attire, helmet and all, silently stood in the middle of the room, staring at her.

     "I thought you were having an audience with your subjects."

     "I am," Loki smirked.

     "Oh," she took a step back, suddenly disquieted at the realization that she was speaking to one of his clones.

     "Your presence is required in the great hall," he nodded at her with a smug grin, clearly amused by her uncertainty. "Immediately."

   Iskra cringed at the memory of her last visit there. At least this time around both her arms would be intact and the fluffy white towel would cover her ass. Still, she dreaded the trip, the humiliation.

     "Please," she looked at him earnestly, "let me get dressed."

    Loki's face wore an expression of utter mischief and devilish glee when he beckoned her with an outstretched arm and a curled forefinger. Worried insane at the unspoken jest that so delighted him, she cautiously walked towards him, reaching out to take the little towel off her head. He shook the same finger at her to indicate she stop.

     "You cannot be serious, I am not going there like that."

     "No, you are not," he said coyly, "but I need you to keep this on for a moment. I need existing matter for a long-lasting transformation like this."

    He walked up to her and placed his already glowing in green hands on top of her head and slowly moved them down her body, all the way to her feet. Iskra found herself in a sparkling cloud of energy and light that gave her the most unusual sensation everytime it touched her skin.

     "Stay still," Loki instructed, and Iskra shut her eyes and tried not to tremble, although somewhat unsuccessfully, as he kept manipulating the beaming flickers of emerald and gold all around her. She could even feel the scintillating plasma enter and move her hair around, lifting it up in the air and rearranging her locks behind her. It felt like the feathery wings and prickly little legs of hundreds of moths touching her all at once and she shuddered even more uncomfortably at the mental image.

     "It suits you," Loki purred in her ear when it was all over and the magic was gone. "Keep your eyes closed, I'll lead you to the mirror," he chuckled cheerfully.

     She took a few blind steps to Tony's full size mirror at the other end of the room, guided by his firm hands on her waist. She could feel his cold skin on both sides of her stomach. Whatever he had done, the towel was certainly gone, though she sensed the umistakable touch of flowing fabric at the lower half of her body. And something firmer, like metal and pressed leather at the top.

     "Open your eyes."

     "You have to be fucking kidding me!" Iskra gasped at her reflection.

 

                                                                                                    ---------

 

      "Can I touch it?"

    Iskra reluctantly nodded at the overexcited security guard and tried to appear disinterested as he reached out and touched the metal headpiece at the top of her plaited hair.

      "It looks just like the real thing. Excellent craftmanship."

    Loki's double had left her in a corridor on the way to the auditorium in the care of a group of sullen guards under Natasha's command. They were meant to wait for the Black Widow to finish interrogating a prisoner in the room in front of which shut door Iskra was waiting, and then they were to make their way to Loki's throne room together.

      "My wife and I used to be into cosplay," the man continued, completely unperturbed at the sound of heart-wrenching screams of anguish coming from behind the inconspicuous looking door, "you know, before all this alien business started, and I have to tell you, she would have killed for a costume like that."

     Iskra flinched at another agonizing shriek which coincided with the word "killed".

      "Where did you get it from?"

     "You'd be surprised at what one can find in Tony Stark's wardrobe," Iskra said, losing her patience at the man's high spirits while someone was being brutally tortured a wall away from them.

     "Could you please tell me what the hell is going on?" she snapped at him and pushed his prying hand away when he tried to touch the shiny waves of metal decorating her bralet.

     "You'd look just like her, if only your eyes were brown. And your hair."

   Iskra suppressed a burning desire to reach behind her belt where she had tucked Loki's Viper blade and stab the moron in the neck.

      "What is wrong with you, man?! How about you put your fucking nerd boner aside for a moment! Someone is being tortured inside!! You, too," she yelled and pointed at the other men who stood a few feet away, chatting quitely and leering at her. "What the hell is going on?"

      "It will all be over soon," the Star Wars enthusiast next to her said matter-of-factly.

      "What do you mean? Is she going to kill him?!"

      "No, the king is. When Ms Romanoff finishes the interrogation, that is," he smirked as if calling the savagery going on behind the door "interrogation" was the funniest joke ever, "we are to escort him to the hall. Everybody's gathered there tonight to watch the execution. They'll even broadcast it live on FOX news."

 

    That did it for her. She somehow lost a few moments of time and recollection, and next when she regained self-awareness she found herself madly banging at the door and shouting Natasha's name.

      "Hey, Princess Leia, calm your tits down!"

    One of the other guys ran to her and cautiously put his hand on her back. She was just about to turn and slap him in the face when the door opened and she stumbled over and nearly fell into Black Widow's lithe little frame.

     "Let her in," the redhead said, and pulling Iskra in by the hand, closed the door behind them.

     "Dashing," she smirked, ogling Iskra up and down, "I see you've settled in your new role quite nicely."

    "Shut up," hissed Iskra. "Who the hell do you think you are? And what are you-"

   She stopped in her tracks, speechless, as her eye caught sight of the man, chained up to the opposite wall on what appeared to be a wooden St. Andrew's cross. He was completely naked, his pale, shivering body covered in various leisons, cuts and nasty looking burns. His rapidly heaving chest glistened with sweat and something else which looked like frothy mucus. When he raised his head, his face having been covered up until now by the matted streaks of his dark hair, Iskra let out an unvoluntary gasp. She had never seen so much pain and visceral despair etched into a human face. But what disturbed her the most was not his haunted eyes, or the peeling layers of his burned skin, or even the blood, it was the puddle of clear liquid which had travelled down his straining leg all the way to the floor. He had wet himself, _like a scared little kid_ , she silently screamed in her head while clutching at her stomach, painfully retching and creating her own little puddle of mess on the floor.

   "What have you done to him, you evil witch!?" Iskra wiped her mouth and ran towards the man, urged by her natural instinct to help a fellow human in distress but froze half way when the man jerked backwards in pure horror and started whimpering, his head averted to the side, recoiling, as if he was expecting her to attack him and hurt him too, like Natasha had done. Iskra was completely taken aback, terrified and unsure of what to do next. Her stomach desperately churned in an attempt to rid her yet again of what little was left of the chocolate bar and biscuits she had eaten earlier, and she realized her face was wet with tears, even though she didn't remember crying. She could smell the man's blood, stale sweat, urine and fear, she thought, she was sure the sharp offensive reek coming from his shuddering body in acrid waves and burning her throat was exactly that, fear. Then she spotted a large plastic bottle next to his feet, the look of which she very well remembered from the days of her brief job as a residential swimming pool lifeguard. The burns on his skin, the froth, the screaming, the offensive vinegary smell. She couldn't see the label but she knew exactly what it said - muriatic acid, great for lowering pool water's pH, and apparently, great for "interrogating" people.

    "What has this man done to deserve this?" Iskra tried to keep her trembling voice down.

    "He got caught."

    "Caught?"

    "He's a rebel from the resistance. He was trying to sneak his way into the tower, seeking to speak to Loki about a possible truce."

    "So why does Loki want to execute him?"

    "Because I got to him first."

  Stone-faced, Iskra turned towards the redhaired spy. "You will pay for this," she hissed, with a bitter voice full of hatred she didn't even know she possessed until now.

     "And what will you do? Wait until Loki puts a chain around your neck to match your outfit and try to strangle me with it?"

     "Maybe I'll just tell him who's the real traitor here and let him do the strangling."

     "This man is going to die a martyr," the S.H.I.E.L.D agent retorted with a benevolent smile that looked out of place on her otherwise icy countenance, "People need a martyr. People need to believe that Loki is executing their olive branch. This way they will unite and continue the resistance against the Chitauri." 

     "And that's not enough for you so you had to torture him as well?"

    "Well, he wasn't exactly going to willingly step onto the scaffold, was he? He needed a bit of persuasion. Loki offered to give the rebels a sanctuary in exchange for their complete surrender. Little did he know that hadn't it been for my persuasive skills, Scott here," she pointed at the chained man who was still cowering and shaking, with his head turned to the side, " would have probably agreed to his terms. Now Loki believes that our martyr-to-be is so dertermined and resilient that he won't betray his own people even under my renowned skills at torture, and the rebels are going to believe that Loki is a cruel tyrant who won't accept their truce. And just to soothe your little precious, righteous soul, it also means that I won't get to use the rest of the bottle on his little brother."

   "Why are you doing this?" Iskra shouted, "How is this going to aid your plan of getting Loki on your side? He'll kill you when he finds out."

   "If he finds out," the Widow corrected her sternly, "And when things get really tough, S.H.I.E.L.D is going to step in and give him a hand. We can be his army."

   "So you don't want to defeat the Chitauri, you want to take their place? You want the world at your feet."

   "Someone has to have the world at their feet."

   "Why are you telling me this? What makes you think I will help you?"

   "Your mother's old washing machine."

  Iskra blinked in confusion at the agent's lunacy. "What the..."

     "My sources tell me that the leading cause of lethal household fires back in your little third-world home country are old Soviet kitchen appliances short-circuited by dubious handymen in a botched attempt to give them a new lease of life. Apparently 265 people died in such circumstances last year. You wouldn't want to up the mortality rates by adding your mother's and your little sister's names to the list, I suppose? I've heard it's quite difficult to leave a burning flat when you live on the tenth floor in an old concrete Stalinist high-rise building with no fire escape route in place," she stretched her plump red lips into an impish toothy grin, "Or is riding Loki's dick more important to you?"

   Iskra lunged for Natasha's face with the clear intent to add the wicked bitch's own name to the death statistics, or at least scalp her pretty red hair and gouge her eyes, but somehow found herself on the floor, Romanoff's leather boot pressing down hard on her throat and the back of her knees painfully burning.

     "Now," the redhaired harpy grinned, malice marring her beautiful doll-like face, "you are going to be a good slave girl and help me dress Scott for his final journey. He's going to face martyrdom in a Ralph Lauren suit."

 

                                                                                                -------

 

       Naturally, Loki had given Iskra a first row seat for the execution. Surrounded by the roar of the crowd and the occasional flash of a camera, he was sat on his golden throne with a solemn expression on his face, stubbornly avoiding her angry gaze while the Star Wars cosplayer guard read out the accusations against the prisoner who stood on shaking legs, supported by Natasha and another member of her bloodhound posse. Dressed in the black silky suit, hands tied behind his back, his hair crudely combed back by the former assassin's cruel fingers, Scott looked beaten up but nothing indicated, at least at first glance that he had just been brutally tortured. However, Iskra knew that under the fancy coat, his white shirt was riddled with tiny holes in a grotesque resemblance of a Swiss cheese slice, due to the residual acid still eating through the thin material and through his skin, like a hungry mouse from hell. Earlier, while they had been walking the man to his green-caped and gold-horned doom waiting for him impatiently on the throne, Scott had lost his footing and tumbled ungracefully to the ground. Iskra had crouched down next to him and tried to help him back up before the guards had quickly and rudely pushed her away. However, not quickly enough to miss the whisper which had escaped the man's scabbed lips: "Don't let her win." Under her breath, Iskra had promised the innocent man condemned to death not to.

     When Loki stood up, transforming his sceptre into a heavy-looking double edged battle sword, and took a few regal steps towards the prisoner, the hall instantaneously quietened down to the decibel of a sigh. Under the cool glow of the large chandeliers above the dais and the hot camera lights pointed at him, the king looked like that was the last place on Earth, or as he had mentiomed to Iskra before - in the Nine Realms, where he wanted to be in this moment in time.

    "Release his bonds," Loki commanded in a voice that melted Iskra's spine into a tingling mess.

    Frowning, Natasha did as he said and gave the man a forceful nudge forward. He faltered but did not fall. He took a few slow steps forward, and keeping his head down and his shoulders slumped, stopped before the king.

   "Kneel."

    Iskra wanted to look away but she couldn't. She couldn't even blink. Through tightening lungs, that had forgotten how to breathe, and wide, dazzled eyes she watched the man fall to his knees and look her straight in the face.

   "Although I deem your reluctance to cooperate blaringly fatuous and infuriatingly obstinate, you have heart, rebel. And today you die as a free man."

   Loki grabbed the hilt with both hands, took a small step to the side, rebalancing his feet, and lifted the sword above his chest, gathering momentum. In a moment that was going to be cruelly carved in Iskra's mind forever, Scott locked his eyes onto hers and held painfully tight, still holding, she was convinced, a millisecond after Loki's mercifully quick swipe detached his head from his body.

   It was nothing like what she had seen in the movies. Had decapitation been rightfully represented on screen, nobody would want to watch the goddam film, she mused in outright horror and morbid fascination as the dais' floor in front of her was being bathed in blood, squirting from the man's headless neck as if his body was a water-pistol operated by a boisterous brat on a sugar high. Iskra's brain vaguely registered the scrambling of feet and high-pitched screams as the people from the first row tried to run away from the splatters of blood raining on and all around her. Iskra didn't move from her designated seat, didn't even twitch as she silently watched Natasha's grin through the red mist, her hand absent-mindedly stroking the Viper tucked in her slave costume's belt.


	20. Correction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shameless smut, as promised (and spanking) :D

                                                                                                          **Chapter Twenty**          

                                                                                                              Correction

 

      Iskra sat in the mostly empty hall now, flanked by one of Natasha's guards, and absent-mindedly fiddled with her bottle of pills which she had been able to bring along by sticking it in her Princess Leia bra. It felt so good to finally have something resembling clothes on and carry things around in her little pocket substitute. Loki had also conjured up the proper greenish suede boots for her feet to match the original. She found herself admiring his impeccable memory (after all he had no more than glanced at the TV screen) while trying to ignore the blood. The blood on her boots, on her legs, on her hands, she was pretty sure there was some on her face too. And the smell. The smell was always the worst. She had grown up on a farm and had been present when animals were being slaughtered. There was nothing quite like it - it lingered for days, even after the blood had been washed out, and the bodies dispatched and carried away. The smell of something out of place, something organic, visceral and sacred that should have been in but was now spilled out, a shameful smell, a smell of guilt, fear and death. A smell of a wasted life.

    She kept glaring at the Black Widow who hovered over Loki and whispered God only knows what poisonous tales in his ears. There had to be a way out of this mess, she thought, she had to find a way to tell him the truth without jeopardizing her family, because this was surely getting out of control. People getting tortured and publicly beheaded, all because of some ridiculous game of power she didn't understand and didn't want any part of. Irate, nauseous and unable to feign indifference any longer, Iskra pushed the guard away and walked up to Loki's throne, head high, shoulders straight and eyes burning in silent determination, despite feeling like the next in line for execution.

        "Your Grace, may I require your presence, back at your quarters. Immediately."

     Loki who had been diligently avoiding her gaze all evening, finally turned to face her and the piercing look of his brooding, unnaturally blueish eyes stopped her dead in her tracks.

     "Your Majesty-" Natasha started but the king abruptly lifted the back of his hand to her in an undisputable gesture of "be quiet" and nodded at Iskra to come closer.

    Iskra gulped down and took a shallow breath, worried that a deep one would shamelessly dissipate her courage into cowardice, took another few steps, climbed the little stool in front of his makeshift seat of power, and pushing her face into his, planted a kiss on the smooth coldness of his surprised lips. She suddenly felt faint and her stomach heaved again. _Oh God, please, don't let me be sick all over him!_ She had leaned way too forward into him to be able to stand back up without having to push onto something. However, she still tried, stubborn as usual, and ended up stumbling. To her great horror, her desperately searching for purchase hand landed on the first hard surface it could reach, which happened to be one of the golden horns on Loki's helmet. He stared at her through squinting eyes, as if he had only just now truly realized that she was there, then simply picked her up in his big arms and stood up, as if she weighed nothing.

      "Hold on tight, this is going to be most unpleasant."

     The lights above her head stretched into an endless garland of glowing trails in an eerie long exposure effect and then the world disappeared. First there was peace in the endless velvety darkness around her but in less than an instant after Iskra's silent thought on the matter, she felt the uniform mass of blackness blister up and separate into millions of dark hostile, ghoulish heads which then turned toward her, in unison, as if she had just had the loudest sneeze in the middle of a library reading session and hooked the pulling gaze of their hungry, eyeless sockets into her fragile mind. They were going to devour her, she knew it. They were going to drink her essence up like the clutching parched throat of a man dying of thirst in the middle of the ocean.

        "Hold on to my mind," she heard Loki's stern sonorous voice and only then did she realize that she still had her body, lost somewhere in the darkness, separated from her mind, and yet still attached, and most importantly she could still feel she had her head resting on the king's hard chest, and the comfort of the steely muscles of his arms around her. Then she remembered her own arms, and desperately clung onto him.  

       "Loki! Don't let me go!" Iskra screamed into the darkness, the loudest scream she had ever heard herself produce while awake, asleep, or dreaming.

       "I won't let you go, my sweet."

    It felt like something had pulled her essence, her soul, out of her body, and a second before her eyes met the familiar environment of Tony's secret den, she felt something slam it down back inside herself with such brutal force that she was sure she felt her brain hit the sides of her skull and her teeth painfully clattered. Then the world melted away again, this time because she blacked out.

    When she came round, she found herself sprawled on the sofa, naked, a taste of sick and copper in her mouth. Something dried up was stuck in her nose. Iskra swiped her hand at it with disgust suspecting it was vomit but let out a sigh of relief when it turned out it was only blood. Apparently teleportation gave you a nosebleed. To go with the bile-inducing, blood-curdling nightmarish ghouls that yearned to eat your soul, that was.

    The noise of running water which she hadn't been aware of until now suddenly ceased and made her lift her head and look towards the bathroom.

        "I've run us a bath," she heard Loki's voice before she saw him, walking slowly towards her, also in the nude.

     He took her in his arms again and carried her to the bathroom, stopping briefly at the sink where he held Iskra upright so she could clean her face and teeth without falling over.

         "The cracks in the fabric of the world are no place for a mortal mind, my dear, but you did stress on the word "immediately" when you required I take you back."

    Iskra glared at him and gave out an unladylike snort.

         "There's blood on your face," she whispered when he lifted her up and gently placed her in the pleasantly smelling bubbly hot water, sitting himself comfortably opposite her. "Let me wash it off."

     She dipped her hands in the water and carefully ran the soft pads of her fingers over both sides of his marble face, starting from the top of his high cheekbones, down his smooth pale cheeks, to his bony chin where her thumbs met. She rubbed it gently, letting her digits relax down the sides of his long neck. Loki closed his eyes and with an appreciative purr let his head lean back at the side of Tony's huge bath tub. Iskra kept cleansing and massaging the cool surface of his skin, admiring how flawless it looked. At a close glance she could discern that it definitely appeared foreign in an angelic, porcelain-doll kind of way: it lacked any of the blemishes that defined a human face as such. She concentrated on the line of his pale pink lips, curved in a slight crescent of approval at her menial assistance to his devine features.

     Now that all of Scott's lifeblood was irretrievably washed away from both their bodies and faces, she found it difficult to believe that the whole gruesome affair had actually happened in the first place. When Loki reached out and buried his cool long fingers into her scalp, gently rubbing at her aching head with one hand and using the other one to deftly undo her plait she couldn't bring herself to think that those were the same hands that had put the sword down to the kneeling man's neck and ended his life in a tidewave of blood and her own guilt. She might have held the blade herself, she mused in self-loathing, although, given her questionable upper body strength that would have made for a rather messier sight, to say the least...

       "Was it really necessary?" she heard herself ask quietly.

    Without opening his eyes Loki pulled her in towards him so now she lay on top of his pale hard chest, half-covered by the frothy water. The temperature fluctuations between Loki's cold body, the hot bath and the cool air around her bare shoulders, neck and back, assaulted her synapses and her skin erupted in goosebumps and sparks of tingling pleasure.

      "It was unfortunate but the message had to be relayed. He refused to cooperate and I will not tolerate disobedience."

    She looked at him with eyes filled with sorrow and silent accusation, as he took a stray lock of her wet golden hair and tucked it behind her ear.

      "It was the lesser of two evils," he continued, "the Chitauri wanted him for further interrogation. They would have ravaged his mind and body in ways unimaginably worse than what Natasha did." He grew quiet for a moment and inhaled deeply, as if forcing the words out against his better judgement, "I would know." And affter another sigh, added, "I was merciful. He died swiftly."

    Iskra fidgeted uncomfortably on top of him but he held her tight with one hand around her waist, the other one trailing cool fluttering fingers up and down her spine. He had positioned his rock hard thigh between her softer ones and she desperately struggled against the sudden impulse to rub her heated centre on it. She forced herself to think of the creature she had seen upon touching Loki's sceptre, The Other. And the implications of the king's "I would know" confession.

      "And you wanted me to see her...work," Iskra swallowed audibly, trying to suppress a sudden urge of nausea at the disturbing images in her head, "why?"

      "Because you cannot claim to know darkness, to understand it, unless you've slept with the lights off at least once. I wanted you to know how it feels to feed the monster inside."

      "The only monster I saw tonight wears a black catsuit with S.H.I.E.L.D's stamp on it. I don't trust her."

      "Good for you. You shouldn't trust her."

      "Do you?"

      "I trust you," his breath flew like an icy breeze above the steaming water.

     "You-your Grace," Iskra stuttered, "this is all too much for me and way beyond my scope of understanding. I don't know how to play this game of politics, of war, of deception, I cannot help you with this and I cannot help you with the peace talks, and I..."

      "What peace talks?" Loki suddenly snapped out of his leisurely rest and startled, Iskra covered her mouth with her hand.

    He opened his eyes, blue specks still swimming in the emerald green, and studied her face inquisitively, one dark brow elegantly cocked. Her heart rate accelarated rapidly as she stared back at him in shock which quickly turned to horror when she felt his hand fist in her hair and forcefully pull her locks back when she tried to avert her face from his.

      "Is there perhaps something I should know, pet?"

    His mouth was still curved in a smile but now she could also see his teeth and there was a polar undertone to his otherwise silky voice. "Surely, you are wiser than trying to hide something from me, aren't you, my little slave?"

      _Everything be damned_ , she thought frantically. _If he kills me, at least my family will be safe_. _Actually that would be the best option. I would have messed up eventually and the evil bitch_ _would have hurt them_.

        "Is that why you said you'd stay when I was prepared to give you the choice to leave? To spy on me and weaken me by means of feigned affection and pretend devotion?"

        "No!"

     She only realized she had been crying when Loki pulled himself up to a sitting position in the water thus forcing her to straddle his lap and brought his lips to her face: at first, in confusion, she thought he was attempting to kiss her, then she realized he was actually tracing her tears with his lips.

        "I would have never betrayed you," Iskra sobbed, "I would have played the Widow's game up to the point of her actually asking me to do something really bad and then I would have gone for her. Obviously, she would have killed me, but at least this way I would have both stayed faithful to you and protected my family. And I have never feigned my affection for you." 

     He pulled away from her face just enough so their eyes could meet. His deep green ones, still worryingly speckled with blue, with black pupils waiting to swallow her whole and her ones, the colour of a summer sky, probably all rimmed in red and leaking rivers by now.

        "Do as you will, I won't resist. As long as you do it yourself, whatever it is, I derserve it."

     Loki's face took on a predatory expression as he wrapped his free hand around her throat and completely cut off her airflow. _Ok_ , _this is it_ , Iskra thought, her racing heart pounding hard at the sides of her skull, he could have thought of much worse ways to send her on her way after all...As she fruitlessly struggled to suck in air, she felt an overwhelmig impluse to grab at his hand and try to dislodge it from squeezing her trachea but she fought it. She fought it hard, even when all the sounds of the world around her disappeared and dancing fireflies bloomed in her darkening field of vision. She shut her eyes to shoo them away but they only danced harder. Blindly, Iskra wrapped her shaking arms around his chest instead, mostly because she had to place them somewhere to stop herself from thrashing, but also because it made her feel less alone in the face of death. When she felt him lift her hips up and slide his granite column of erection inside her treacherously wet channel, her first, and she thought, last thought was " _Typical. He'll have me die on his goddamn cock, where else_?" but then he pulled her face into his and violently parted her lips with his teeth, pushing his tongue deep into her mouth, opening it, so when he finally let go of her neck and she involuntary gasped, she inhaled the cool air from his lungs down into her own hungry chest.

       "I know you wouldn't have," he rasped in her ear when he withdrew from their feral kiss to take a breath himself.

    She glared at his mischievous little smirk and the bright twinkle in his eye.

       "You bastard," she tried to push him away but her resistance only spurred him on and he made her cry out with a mighty push of his hips and eventually, she relaxed in his arms, taking slow deep breaths, refilling her oxygen-starved body back with precious air, and hoping that the process would also help her stretched out pussy relax around his startling girth.

     Loki placed his large hands behind her, one between her shoulder blades, the other one at the small of her back and pushed her body flush against his rigid frame. She felt her breasts being squashed against his cold chest in a sweet mixture of dull pain and tingling pleasure.

       "I still haven't finished with you, my little double-crossing slut," he murmured in her ear, his heavy voice glazed with humourous delight, but also deep with dark promises. "Dripping wet for me and throbbing even when you thought I wasn't going to let go," he nibbled at her earlobe, then ran his teeth along her jaw line and laid an exploratory bite on the soft sensitive area underneath her chin, "All your wanton body cared for was readying itself to come apart, burning the last molecules of air in your blood to spasm around my cock while your life was fizzling out," he growled in her ear, "because it knows I own you."

      His cold lips felt like a soothing balm when he slowly kissed his way across the sore part on her throat where his fingers had been digging into minutes ago, and then burned like fire when he used them to fiercely suck on her tender skin, as his thrusts fell into a deep, slow rhythm. "However, my sweet filthy slattern, your lack of faith in me requires definitive correction."

       Before she had time to consider or even worry about how exactly he intended to implement said correction, a loud smack echoed in the bathroom and sharp pain bloomed all over her right butt cheek, followed by Loki pushing up his sizeable length further up in her channel. It was all too much - her skin being wet had amplified the painful sensation of his slap tenfold. Iskra let out a small whimper of indignation and squirmed uncomfortably in his lap only to have her objection met by another hard slap, on the other lathered globe of her ass. This time she yelped. The look on Loki's face was one of pure venereal gratification. When he hit her again, he groaned quietly and slightly tilted his head backwards, eyes hooded and dark eyebrows raised in an expression of bliss. Despite the pain that had already made her eyes water and her throat tighten up, Iskra felt an electrifying surge of titillating desire run down her spine at the notion that it was her body or something he was doing to her body that was responsible for his rapturous expression. After a few more strikes on her tender and by now flaming red behind she also realized that he wasn't simply taking sadistic pleasure in seeing her whimper, wince and eventually weep, he was also relishing the fact that with each stinging blow her muscles, especially those in her pelvic region, were spasming and making her velvety walls violently clasp down around his cock.

     Loki didn't let his agonizingly slow pace of thrusting into her sopping, aching core falter as he leant forward and took her nipple into his mouth. He sucked hard on it, gently running his teeth along its hardened tip, as he landed another smack on her redenned ass - thus keeping her in place: she knew that if she were to protest his "correction" by trying to squirm her way out of his rapacious embrace, he'd close his teeth down on her sensitive bud. She exhaled sharply when she felt his cold, calloused thumb circle and then lightly press down on her clitoris. The tenderness of the act was quickly counteracted by another brutal slap to her rear.

    Formal ways of addressing him forgotten, Iskra cried out in agony and dug her nails in his back, "Please, Loki, stop! No more, I can't take any more..."

    She rested her head on his shoulder and abandoning all attempts at keeping her dignity, let herself sniff and sob. She felt, more than heard, the chuckle rising in his chest as he whispered while patronizingly patting her hair, "Now, now, my unruly little girl, we both know that's not true."

    Iskra felt his lips curl into an impish grin on her ear and then her whole world lit up in scorching white pain when he slapped her again. This time however, the agonizing feeling didn't slowly peter out like before, leaving random solitary nociceptors in the tormented skin of her butt to angrily fire in an intermittent fashion until deeming it (falsely) safe to stop; no, this time the pain actually transformed into a mind-shattering explosion of pleasure as Loki vigorously stroked her sweet spot and let go of her nipple only to wrap his cold adept tongue around the other one. She wailed and shuddered through her orgasm, vaguely noting from the farthest corner of her exhausted mind that she had grabbed hold of his black, silky hair, pulling on it, as if to keep herself from soaring away from the world.

    Loki brough her back to her senses by plundering her parted lips with his insistent mouth, hungry for her sighs, her gasps and her tears. She absent-mindedly admired, then gravely worried at his outworldly power of self-control: he hadn't come with her which only meant one thing - that he hadn't finished punishing her. Her fears materialized when his stiff hand collided with her bottom once again, making her whole body jolt upwards and then relax back down onto Loki's unrelenting shaft, pounding into her harder than ever.

     "Oh my God!" she squealed and threw her head back, still holding onto his hair with one hand and onto his shoulder with her other one.

     " _God_ certainly suits me well, as I am your God," he smirked, his gleaming eyes back to their usual jade glory, "however, tonight you will be screaming my name, just as I promised."

    When all she managed were a few incoherent mewls and whines, he smacked her again, and recommenced the sensual assault on her most sensitive of spots between her legs, sliding his fingers around it and up and down her slick, swollen folds, brazenly stretched open by his thick manhood.

     "Say my name," he whispered in her ear, while holding her tight around her waist with his other hand and pushing her down, impaling her deeper, if that was even possible, onto his hard, throbbing length.

     "Loki..," her voice was barely audible, suffocated by her hitching breaths as he nibbled softly on her still tender neck, and then nibbled harder.

    "Say my name!" he growled, his voice deep, feral, threatening and sinful at the same time, and it resonated from the top of her head to the burning depths of her core, making her walls quiver and tighten in preparation for another cosmic release.

     "Loki!" Iskra screamed as he struck her again, and again, then "Loki!" as her vision turned white and the whole world went quiet in the midst of the sweet oblivion of her orgasm.

   Loki kept mercilessly pistoning his hips into hers as she was coming down from her high, only to take her back up again, with the help of a few more wet slaps to her tortured bottom and a few firm, yet deliciously languid strokes to her clit. This time around, Iskra felt his lean, muscled body, too, spasm beneath her and as he pulled her even closer into his heaving chest, they rode together through the blissful waves of their release, she peppering his neck with cat licks and tender kisses and he coating her heated depths with his cold, dense seed.

                                                                                                            ____

 

      Iskra found herself, semi-conscious, lying in his bed, dry and wrapped up in a soft blanket, nestled in Loki's strong arms, with his cool lips gently pressing on her cheek. She felt a pleasant sensation vibrating through her skull and realized that he was hummimg to her. When she wriggled around in search of more of him to cling on to, he stopped his gentle drone, and pulled her closer to him, hugging her tighter.


	21. The Road To Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into Iskra's dark past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was difficult to write. If you are looking for a light read before Christmas, this certainly is not it LOL  
> Trigger warnings:  
> mentions of: self-destructive behaviours (various), past sexual assault  
> details of: emotionally abusive relationship
> 
> Oh, yes, and whatever you do, do not try the banana stunt at home. Serious risk of choking involved!

                                                                                                                **Chapter Twenty One**

                                                                                                               The Road To Hell

 

 

                _The small, dimly lit room. The old mattress in the corner, the hastily discarded clothes, including her own, littering the floor. The laughter of her drunken friends coming from two doors down the hallway. Hadn't they noticed she had been gone for too long? Did they not care? And the unforgiving arms of steel around her body, holding her down, drowning her, bruising her. Then the voice, hot and hateful in her ear. "Beg me."_

     Iskra woke up with a gasp to Loki's handsome sleeping face next to her. He looked so peaceful in the dim light, eyes shut, an ever so slight smile gracing his elegant lips, silky black waves curling playfully around his regal cheekbones. She reached out to fix an uruly strand of inky hair but decided against it and carefully put her hand back down: she didn't want to wake him up. She imagined for a moment that he wasn't the self-proclaimed king, that he hadn't conquered half the country by perpetuating murder on a mass scale, that there were no Chitauri and no Black Widow. She imagined that they were someplace else, somewhere far away, where things were tranquil and uncomplicated and she was his, and he was hers, and in her daydream she saw him wake up and tell her he loved her, and she told him she loved him back.

      _"Beg me."_

    The stupid voice from her nightmare. Always there at the back of her mind. Always lurking.

    With a peculiar sense of predestination she mused whether she should thank or curse the bastard who had said those most hateful words to her. After all, that dreadful night had shaped her life. She would have never ended up here tonight, waking up to the serene, outworldly face of her captor, had it not been for the harrowing events following the encounter with the owner of the odious voice: the nameless, by now also faceless, predator from her bad dreams.

    There was so much darkness in her past. She didn't want to let the memories slip in and poison her mind, but just like a plume of noxious gas they seeped through the cracks of the prison she had built around them in her head: the assault, the downward spiral of self-hate, guilt, and depression that eventually nearly dropped her at the ugly door of the barren wastelands of insanity. She had run for so long, mostly from herself. She had hopped from one nightstand to another in search of the ever-elusive intimacy that she so craved but could never find, from the bottom of one bottle of drink to the next, longing for peace but finding only disquiet, and from heaps of junk food to the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl, fooling herself that she was exerting control when in reality she had been a slave to her urges... She had lost friends, jobs, her place at university but in a vague moment of clear-headedness and bad luck, as it turned out later, she had landed a summer job as a lifeguard in the States. And that's where she had met and fallen into the hands of another predator: Bob. She still remembered it like it was yesterday.

                                                                                                                     ...

      He was her supervisor. Her very inappropriate supervisor who would come to the lifeguards' rented flats night after night, chatting and drinking with them, shamelessly ogling the young foreign women. He was in his forties and at the time Iskra couldn't even buy a bottle of wine from the local supermarket, yet she felt oddly attracted to his bravado and his out of place strong New York accent. He never paid much attention to her because she usually stayed out of his way, sitting quietly in a corner, keeping to herself and people-watching.

     One night they were having a party, which was nothing out of the ordinary - they threw a party neary every night throughout the first month of their arrival and Iskra kept wondering how long it would take before a pool patron actually drowned due to most of the lifeguards living in a constant state of being hungover. One of the guys had plugged in his mp3 player into the speakers of the hi-fi and she was surprised to hear The Doors asking her to light someone's fire.

    _You know that it would be untrue_

_You know that I would be a liar_

_If I was to say to you Girl,_

_we couldn't get much higher_

      "God, I love this song!" Iskra said to no one in particular, her eyes glazed with excitement. "You know, guys, Jim Morrison actually lived here for a while, in this very town! I even found his old address, we can go check it out!" She fished out a little piece of paper out of her pocket. "Isn't this fucking amazing?"

    It seemed that no one in the room heard her or if they had, they certainly did not give two hoots about Jim Morrison. The only Jim that held any importance to them at the time had the surname of Beam.

    No one except Bob.

    He sat up next to her on the sofa, brushing her bare thigh with his khaki pants, accidentally or on purpose, she couldn't tell, and blew a cloud of cigarette smoke into her face.

       "Let me see."

    She passed him the paper and he stared at it for a minute before nodding his head and smirking. "I know where this is, I'll take you there."

 

     That was how her descent into hell began.

   One trip to Morrison's old house, which turned out to be an inconspicuous residential house on a quiet road, and a visit to her pool with a box of cheap chocolates later they were out having dinner. He was polite, attentive and made no advances towards her until the night of the next lifeguards' party when she had had one too many and found herself sprawled on an old dusty sofa that someone had dragged out to the balcony. Crying, shaking and blubbering into Bob's white polo t-shirt about how she "had got herself raped". Had she been sober then, she would have noticed the predatory flame that her words of distress ignited in his otherwise emotionless grey eyes. She would have taken note of the bulge in his shorts and how his hands suddenly started wandering all over her body, spurred on by the retelling of her violation. But she was awfully drunk and mistook his sick desire for compassion and an expression of intimacy, one which she had craved desperately for such a long time.

   And just like that they were an item. Soon after she left the company-rented apartments and moved to his place, she found out that he was married.

      "It's nothing," he reassured her, "It's only to help her out. She had problems and couldn't go back to her country. We'll divorce as soon as she gets her green card...You cannot say a word about this to anyone or you'll get me in big trouble."

   He had told her his "wife" never paid him to marry her, that he had done it out of the goodness of his heart, "She bought me a six-pack of Bud Light, that's all."

   It turned out it had been a pack of six grand, and a fee his wife was instructed to deposit into their shared bank account monthly, without fail, unless she wanted the DHS knocking on her door. 

   Gradually, he became cold, controlling and mean. Her skirt was always too short for him, her make up always too much, he would take her to parties with him and then completely ignore her all night while he flirted with other girls. He would never touch her with any kind of warmth or human affection, and eventually he stopped having sex with her, calling her dirty and licentious for seeking him out, but he insisted she watch him masturbate to pictures of barely-legal and sometimes openly underage girls online with no shame. Afterwards Iskra would take his pet dog, an old lab retriever, on long walks outside, under the shade of the ancient elm trees lining their street and cry, so he couldn't see her.

   Yet, she not only stayed with him, she was convinced she loved him. Why? She had asked herself that question many times and never got a satisfying answer. Was it because subconsciously she believed she deserved to be punished, because she believed she was unworthy of love? What had caused it - the sexual assault, her low self-esteem, her father's cruel treatment of her when she had been a little girl, the fact that she was alone, far away from home in another country and felt that too much was at stake, should she decide to suddenly quit her job and fly back? Perhaps a bit of everything.

   Come September, they closed down the swimming pools for the winter and she went home. Bob told her he would wait for her to come back. He gave her a fleeting hug at the exit gate at the aiport and whispered that he loved her - the first time he had ever said it. She believed him. They kept their relationship going through phone and video calls. He kept telling her he wanted to be with her and that the date of his divorce was getting closer and closer, however she would often hear music and people talking and laughing in the background. She never as much as looked at another man throughout the ten lonely months before her next work visa interview at the American Embassy. Her application got rejected. A problem in her papers, they said. Not enough money in the bank. No property under her name.

   Her conversations with Bob became shorter, and further and further apart. She became paranoid and suspected he had something to do with her visa denial. She had seen pictures of him and another girl online but he insisted there was nothing going on. However, he started saying horrible things to her, insinuating she had enjoyed being violated. "You liked it, didn't you? I bet you came, you filthy whore!", he said once, and then as she sobbed over the phone he mumbled, "If you truly loved me, you'd do anything to come back." Iskra booked another interview at the Embassy for the following year but that put a strain on her relationship with her family. She struggled to keep a steady job, plagued by excessive drinking and burning hatred for herself and her life. She felt a like prisoner in her own country, and most days like a prisoner in her own body. She sold the few things of value she had around in her house but the money didn't even last her a month. Iskra was too proud and too stubborn to ask her mother for help, and her father had already refused. And then, after more self-loathing, more guilt, more vodka and more madness she started selling the only thing she had left. Now, a lot of people would say that it was her body, that she had put for sale, by entering the ranks of the oldest profession. They were wrong, she only hired it out. What she had sold, that first night, when she agreed to sleep with a stranger in exchange for a wad of crumpled up, sweaty pieces of dirty paper, was her soul. She was already a whore in Bob's eyes anyway, what else she could do but live up to it.

   It was difficult at first. The other girls mocked her and dissed her night after night. She actually found it more difficult to deal with them than the clients. But the money in her bank account started growing, soon she had enough to buy a good second-hand car. She didn't. She saved it all up, to show the people behind the bulletproof glass panel at the Embassy that she wasn't poor and she had no intention to defect. It did not work. This time, when they said no, they told her it was pointless to even try again. Her whole world crumbled down. Several frantic Skype calls with Bob later and a near nervous breakdown when she lost her nerves and told him that if he weren't to come and see her or at least have the decency to tell her the truth, she would tell the authorities all about his sham marriage, he told her he would come but didn't have enough money to travel. Iskra paid for his plane ticket.

                                                                                                                 ...

   Bob lay in her bed. They had just had sex, but it had felt wrong, it had been mechanic, distant, worse than sleeping with one of her clients. He kept avoiding her teary, enquiring eyes.           

        "She got her card," he eventually said, "so it's all over now. I'll be a free man soon."

        "And what then? What about us?"

        "There is no us anymore. I'm sorry."

        "That night on the phone, you said you loved me, you said you loved me like you'd never loved another. You told me to find a way to come back to you, whatever it took because you couldn't live without me. You said you wanted me to carry your babies. You cried for me."

        "I was drunk, Iskra, I could have said it to anyone. And you didn't try hard enough, did you?"

        "I did, I did everything I could but they wouldn't let me go back. So what, you didn't mean what you said, not a word?"

    His voice was cold, cruel; it cut through her heart like the blade of the knife she took to her forearm after she saw him to the airport.

        "Not a word, and anyway, why would I want to have babies with you? I know what you've been up to all this time - I always knew you were a whore."

   Luckily, she was too drunk and blacked out before she made it down to her veins.

 

    She spent two weeks in the psychiatric ward of the local hospital after her roommate called the police when she found her naked, passed out on the cold kitchen floor, clutching her blooded arm and an empty bottle of melon flavoured vodka. They diagnosed her with clinical depression and discovered that she had also been unknowingly suffering from ADHD. She attended a few therapy sessions and left the hospital with an empty heart and a pocket full of pills.

    Later on she found out that sometimes soon after she had left the States Bob had replaced her with another young girl, this time from Russia, who had gone to work for the same swimming pool company for the summer. He had proposed to his new girlfriend shortly before he had come to see Iskra and fuck her one last time. The worst thing however was not his betrayal or her fall from grace, the thing she anguished the most over was Bob's fiance's name, which was her own. Iskra realised that all those times they had spoken on the phone, and he had mentioned her to his colleagues, all those times he had called her "his girlfriend" in front other people, were not actually an act, or a lie, as she first had thought. Bob had simply been referring to the other Iskra. It felt so wrong, so eerie, it felt like her whole life had been an illusion, like she was the fake one, the impostor, like the other woman had stolen everything from her - her man, her old job, her place, and even her goddamn name. She had indeed lost everything, the only thing that she had left was the burning desire to go back and face him. Face her. And do what? She didn't yet know but the thought of even petty revenge kept her going, night after night, and kept her from sinking back into the bottomless hole of despair.

                                                                                                        ...

    She was at the club one uneventful night, listening to the manager and the rest of the girls talk and share jokes, a few of which she happened to be the butt of. The conversation naturally progressed to porn stars' skills in bed, as it often did on quiet, punterless nights.

     "I have never met anyone in real life who can take a cock that deep down and not gag. I bet they edit the videos, no one is that good at deep throating."

    A lively discussion ensued. Iskra took a sip of her drink and patiently waited for a gap in the conversation.

     "I am," she said and when everyone looked at her and burst out laughing she blushed and looked down at the floor. The damned ADHD pills made her talk too much.

     "You? Really? Get outta here!"

     "I bet you wouldn't even know what to do with a dick if one slapped you in the face."

   She looked up, a cheeky grin on her lips, "You'd be surpised."

      "Prove it."

   There was a fruit bowl at the end of the bar and the manager scooped up a good-sized banana. He peeled it off and carefully rolled down a condom over its soft surface.

      "Here, so you don't choke to death when it gets stuck down your throat. I'd certainly have trouble explaining that to the police."

   Now they were all roaring with laughter. In an uncharacteristic display of bravery Iskra took the impressive piece of fruit, tilted her head back at the right angle, opened her mouth, and with a swift, steady motion of her hand pushed it all the way down. It was like the pencil scene from The Dark Night - she simply made it disappear, together with her workmates' laughter. When after a minute or less, she pulled it out by the end of the condom, without even a hint of engaging her gag reflex, they were all still staring at her in silent admiration. Then someone started clapping and the rest of them followed.

     "How the hell did you do that?"

     "Eleven out of ten!"

     "It's like proper circus-level skills, only sexy!"

  Her roommate/friend/colleague, however, did no applauding and measured her up and down with cold, squinting eyes, instead. "It's because she shoves her fingers down her throat every day and makes herself puke. Still find it sexy?" she hissed.

       "Yuk! That's gross!" one of the other girls shouted as the clapping and cheering abruptly stopped.

   And just like that Iskra lost their short-lived admiration, and earned a mixture of pity and disgust in its place. And another reason to want to run away.

                                                                                                ...

         "What you did earlier..."

         "Don't even start," Iskra glared at the burly bouncer at the door on her way out.

         "...was quite impressive. I might have an offer for you."

         "Piss off, Ivan! I'm not in the mood."

         "I'm serious."

         "Look, I am not blowing you."

         "Actually, a friend of mine..."

         "I am not blowing your friend."

         "He's not asking for a blow job."

         "Whatever he is asking for, I am not doing it."

         "He pays well."

         "Money can't buy me what I want. And I bet he doesn't pay in miracles."

         "You'd be surprised at what money can buy. How about a ticket to Dulles Airport? Does this count as a miracle?"

 

                                                                                                ...

 

           Iskra kept wiping her sweaty palms onto her jeans as the taxi drove down Duke Street. She had made it throughout the whole ordeal without getting arrested or dying, and considering her innate clumsiness and bad luck that was a commendable accomplishment. And now she was finally here! A miracle indeed! Sights and buildings she thought she had long forgotten stirred up in her memories and suddenly took on a familiar form.

       "Here, please, stop here!"

     She paid and tipped the driver and gingerly stepped out into the big car park in front of the red brick facade of Harris Teeter. As she strolled away from the superstore she passed the florist's, the sushi place, the Mexican restaurant and the pizzaria. The liquor store was gone, though, she noted, but Rite Aid was still there. She walked up to the little road at the end of the shops and went left. She continued under the canopy of the old elms, surrounded by the light grey wooden properties of the lease estate. It felt like a dream. One of the many dreams she had had throughout the last few years, only this time it was real. _I'm actually here!_ Her heart was pounding in her chest and she had to stop and try to calm her breathing down before someone thought she was experiencing an asthma attack. 

    She rummaged through her handbag, gripped the envelope and held it tightly to her chest, knuckles white. Everything was in it, she had described with great detail all of Bob's transgressions, the ones she had proof of, and the ones she didn't: his sham marriage, the secret bank account where his first wife deposited her monthly fee for being able to stay in the country, his pedo tendencies, the sexual harrassment case that had cost him his old job, the backstabbing, the lies, the humiliations, the abuse, even the shoplifting. And most importantly of all - how he had cheated on the girl with her. Or cheated on her with the girl - the matter was one of perspective, she guessed.

    It took her less than two minutes to walk to the building. She looked around the little car park at the front and sighed with relief when she didn't spot his car. Of course, she thought, it was possible that he had got a new one, but she somehow doubted it, he had loved the Maxima too much. She sat on the kerb next to the dumpsters and waited, pretending to read a book. If someone came out and questioned her, she would pretend to be one of the summer exchange students working at the swimming pools and say that she's waiting for a friend. If she couldn't get to the girl the same day, or if the girl was not alone, she would retrieve to her cheap hotel uptown and try the next day. And then the next. She would even stalk her to her work place if she had to but one way or another, she would personally deliver the letter.

    Half an hour later, someone pulled up in an empty spot at the opposite site of the building. A young brunette wearing sunglasses, petite and pretty, her curves accentuated by a red summer dress, walked out of the driver's seat and opened the trunk. It was full of bags and bags of groceries. She took two out, one in each hand, and proceeded to walk to the heavy green front door of the building. Half way there one of the carrier bags broke, spilling food items all over the tarmac.

      "Дерьмо!" shouted the girl.

     Her girl.

     At last.

    This is more than luck, thought Iskra. _The Universe actually wants me to do this. Karma is a bitch, and so am I._ She got up and walked to the brunette, the letter of doom in her trembling fingers.

      "You need a hand?"

     Before the girl in the red dress had a chance to reply, Iskra squated down next to her and started gathering boxes and tubs and putting them on top of the groceries in the surviving bag.

      "Thank you so much! I should have double bagged...I hate shopping day!"

     Her voice was sweet and melodic, made even softer by her strong Russian accent. She took her sunglasses off and looked at Iskra, a flick of recognition in her pretty brown eyes, "Do I know you from somewhere? Maybe from work? No, wait...you are one of the lifeguards, right? My husband's not home yet."

      _So she's a looker and a talker. This is going to be easier than I thought._ Iskra shook her head and smiled cordially, "I used to live here," she threw the little grey apartment block a longing look, "sadly, I had to move out four years ago. Perhaps you've seen me about?"

      "I haven't lived here that long, you see. But you must know Bob then?"

     Iskra picked up a tin of dog food and passed it into the girl's nail-polished hand, Bob's late mum's engagement ring decorating her finger.

       "Oh yes, I remember him, very nice guy. Had that cute lab retriever."

       "You know about Marge? I've only seen pictures of her," the girl stood up and pulled away a stray lock of dark hair from her face.

     Iskra knew she was young from spying on her Facebook account but was still surprised of how much younger she looked in person. She must be barely twenty. _Fucking perv._

        "She died of old age before I met Bob. We now have two little pups. Got them a few weeks ago actually. We have to practise, after all."

     Iskra didn't quite get her last words but feigned surprise at the dog's death even though Bob himself had told her about it and she had comforted him, and even sent money over to help with the burial. And then she feigned even bigger surprise, "Wait a minute...husband...we...puppies?! Bob's married? To you?" Iskra clapped her hands excitedly, "Well, isn't that something? Congratulations!"

     The girl's full lips stretched into a wide smile full of pride and infatuation, "Thank you!"

    "How did you two lovebirds meet?"

    "I came over here to work as a lifeguard over the summer and he was my supervisor..."

    "Oh, so just like that other girl then-," Iskra exaggeratedly put a hand over her mouth and waved the one holding the enveloped dismissively, "never mind, silly me, obviously you were the one."

      She thought that she had pushed it too far this time and stepped back, ready to be told to sod off and get going but the young woman's face suddenly took on a pensive expression and she started playing with the diamond ring, twirling it around her finger.

     "Did you know her?", she looked at the floor.

     "Who?"

     "Bob's ex-girlfriend?"

     Iskra tried to sound disinterested, "I used to see her around, might've spoken to her a few times, she was kind of quiet."

     "And crazy, right? Bob said she was a right psycho!"

   Iskra put on her best poker face, "Did he? Why, what did she do to him?"

      "Well, apparently she was a slutty alcoholic bitch with mental health problems."

    Iskra slapped her thighs, overtaken by an unexpected but half-genuine fit of laughter, "Slutty alcoholic bitches are the worst kind, believe me. Bob's had a lucky escape!"

    But then, as if reciting a poem off her head, the girl continued, "And she broke his heart. She had to go back to her country to renew her visa and while Bob was left here alone, waiting for her, she became a prostitute behind his back. God knows why, I guess she just loved dick. She would speak to Bob on the phone, tell him she loved him, and then hang up and go on to fuck countless men all night. Poor Bob never knew a thing. He was about to propose to her when he found out. It nearly killed him."

     Iskra stared at the girl's sullen face speechless, the venomous words stinging her heart and tightening around her windpipe like a snake. _This is not how it happened! You lying piece of_ _shit cunt bastard_.

      "Are you ok?" the girl put her delicate hand on her shoulder. "Don't look so worried, the story has a happy ending," she smiled broadly, her straight white teeth gleaming in Iskra's face, "he met me, and things couldn't have gone any better. We were made for each other. I still can't believe why she'd do that to him, though, he's such a sweetheart, she must indeed have been nuts to let him go! But what can you expect from a whore anyway?"

     Iskra pushed down the bile rising in her throat and for an awful moment stood there motionless, her fists clenched, afraid that she wouldn't be able to stifle the impulse to punch the smile off the little bitch's face and pull at her neatly coiffed hair until half of it lay matted and blooded on the floor. Oh yes, and the teeth, she'd certainly do something about those teeth. She breathed in deeply and counted to ten.

     "There is a funny part to the whole story, believe it or not," the girl went on. "Apparently she has the same name as me! Can you imagine?! What are the odds? At least I look nothing like her, otherwise I'd be worried that Bob has a fetish or something."

     Iskra could see the girl's eyes scanning her up and down now, the recognition in them growing larger but thankfully still not enough. _She must have seen a photo of me. I have to hurry up and get this over and done with._ But she hesitated. What if Bob was a changed man? What if something in her personality had brought the worst out in him when they had been together? What if it had been her fault indeed? What if she had got what she deserved after all? She shook her head. No, it wasn't true, no! She was stronger now, she had put the self-destruction and self-hate behind, she was the master of her own destiny and she was going to get justice for she had been wronged. But the innocence in those big brown eyes staring at her bothered her. It made her feel as if were she to take that innocence away, that would make her worse than the man who she had come here to exact revenge upon. But that's not what broke her. It was the way the young girl absent-mindedly put her small hand on her slightly round, Iskra only just now noticed, belly, and rubbed it protectively, the diamond on her slender finger throwing little rainbows of light into Iskra's stinging eyes, blinding her. _We have to practise, after all._

    Something snapped inside her then, and she knew she couldn't go through with it.

    "I have to run," she said, "It was a pleasure to meet you."

    "Is this for Bob?" The Russian girl pointed to the envelope. "I'll give it to him when he comes home."

   Iskra looked at the letter in her hands through the blurry curtain of approaching tears and tore it in half, shaking her head, "No, it's for me. A rejection letter," she wiped at her eyes, "gets me every goddamn time."

     "You know, my mum says "when one door shuts, another one opens", she patted Iskra on the arm, "You'll get it next time!"

     "Thanks, it was a shitty job anyway," she forced a smile. "Have a good one!"

     "Wait, I never got your name! I'm Iskra, by the way," the girl stretched her hand, brown eyes sprakling in the sun.

     "Maria," Iskra lied, "Tell Bob I said hi."

 

                                                                                                              ...

       Through her misty vision, Loki looked even more beautiful, more serene. Iskra gingerly lifted her fingers again, bent on putting that stray lock of his back into place. Loki stirred, grabbed her hand mid-air without opening his eyes and directed it into the silkiness of his raven hair. He let out a small sigh of content when her soft fingertips collided with his scalp. When he finally lifted his eyelids, she found herself lost in the crystalline fractals of his emerald irises, as he reached out and gently wiped the little beads of moisture pooling at her thick lashes.

     "You are crying and I'm not the cause of your tears," his lips stretched out in an impish smile. "I am afraid I have to right this terrible iniquity at once."

    Iskra's eyes widened for a moment, in recollection of the feeling of his punitive hand on her still very sore behind, then she quickly composed herself and smiled back, giving him a playful nudge with her other hand, soft and warm against his cool hard chest.

      "Cut it out," she chuckled, hiding her nervousness behind timid laughter.

    Loki's cool thumb moved from the corner of her eye to that of her curled lips, and slowly traced them. "That's more like it," he rasped in her ear, his sibilant purr sending shivers down her spine. "I can't make it better, darling, but I can certainly make you forget."

   Before she had time to reply, he moved down the bed, and she felt the cold palms of his strong hands push her thighs open with ferocious assertiveness until both her knees touched the satin sheet of the bed. She whimpered quietly at the strain of her uncomfortably stretched muscles but when he buried his face down into the heat between her legs and her shaking fingers fisted in his onyx hair, her whimpers quickly turned into ones of pleasure.

       "Make me forget," she whispered.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Дерьмо!" = "Shit!", in Russian


	22. Power Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iskra helps Loki decline a pesky marriage proposal followed by sexy time in the throne room x 2

                **Chapter Twenty Two**  
 

                     Power Games

 

     Iskra frowned at the image of the deep purple marks around her neck in the bathroom mirror. Loki had let her rest all morning while he had been busy with his official governing duties, and after she had finally got up around noon, showered, eaten and got dressed in her now squeaky clean Leia outfit, he had come back to collect her and bring her back to the auditorium with him.

   "Loki..," she said while fiddling with her plait and fruitlessly trying to cover at least part of the bruises with it, "can you, please, do something about this?"  
   He slid his tall frame behind her without making a sound and pulled her into him so the bare skin on her back, arms and side of her legs was flush against his leather clad body. The touch of the cold hard armour at the sides of his longcoat made her break out in goosebumps. Also responsible for her reaction was something else down there behind her, pressing insistently at her lower back, that wasn't part of his regalia but felt just as hard.  
   Iskra watched herself in the mirror as Loki placed his cool hand on her throat, his fingers a perfect match to the pattern of her bruises.  
  "Why, darling, are you ashamed to wear my mark?"  
  "No." It wasn't a lie, Iskra had gradually grown oddly insensitive to feeling embarrassed since becoming Loki's "bed slave" and to prove her point she stood on her toes and quite shamelessly rubbed her rear against his arousal, "But this doesn't look like you've simply marked me," her voice was small as she met his piercing viridian eyes in the reflective surface, "it looks like you...you've tried to kill me."  
   He smirked knowingly and without breaking eye contact nibbled at her jawline, while thrusting back at her hips, "Trust me, it's all in the plan."

 

   Iskra sat on the first row bench in the auditorium, watching intently the scene unfolding before her. The leader of a small group of Chitauri soldiers who stood surrounding Loki's throne, kept shooting menacing looks back and forth to the few present humans, herself included. His hideous beady eyes squinting and his gruesome resemblance of a mouth gurgling uninteligble words, he paced around angrily and enthusiastically waved his crab-like upper limbs in the air. Loki didn't seem impressed. If the look on his face could kill, of which Iskra was half-sure by now that it could and he wasn't simply holding back its lethal force for the sake of diplomacy, the grey alien monstrosities would all be sprawled dead on the floor, she thought.  
  Suddenly she registered a flash of red with her peripheral vision and felt someone sit next to her.  
   "I'm pleasantly surprised to see you are still alive," Natasha purred with feigned gentility, "Any information to share about what is going on with the Chitauri?"  
   "I have nothing. Loki's not exactly been keen on talking," Iskra replied without looking at the S.H.I.E.L.D agent.  
  "I can see," the redhead reached out for an unruly strand of hair that had come loose from Iskra's plait and lay across her collarbone.  
  Iskra flinched and turning sharply towards the other woman with a stone-cold expression in her glistening eyes stopped her hand mid-air and roughly pushed it away.  
  "Don't. Ever. Touch. Me. Again."  
Natasha gave her a condescending smile and nodded towards Iskra's bruised throat.  
  "I don't think I need to. He's done a good enough job."  
  As agent Romanoff stood up and walked away swiftly, Iskra caught Loki's conspirational smirk from across the dais and playfully scowled back at him. His plan had worked, it seemed - at least for the time being the woman-in-black would not trouble her.

 

   After the disgruntled Chitauri eventually left reluctantly, a bald, skinny, middle-aged man who looked like a younger, and creepier, version of Mr Burns, flanked by two younger men in suits, approached the throne. They set up a little screen in front of the king and explained that they were representing "the largest employer in the former United States", and proceeded to confidently deliver a forty five-minute presentation on Benefits And Rewards Of Slave Labour, essentially urging Loki to reintroduce the appaling, inhuman practice, promising an immeasurable economic boost to the newly established kingdom and the subsequent envy of the "free world" and closed their nauseating diatribre with the oddly familiar line of "the bright lure of freedom diminishes one's life's joy in a mad scramble for power". Iskra knew she had heard someone utter that pretentious bullshit before and studiously raked through her memory until she was horrified to find it was part of the widely broadcast Stuttgart speech of her very own dark captor when he had first made his presence publicly known on Earth. What truly terrified her though was that she had had never thought she would hear people actually agree with him.  
  Sat on his makeshift throne, legs spread wide in his usual self-assertive manner, golden armour gleaming in the afternoon sun and his head slightly cocked to one side Loki looked truly majestic. However, the expression on his face was unreadable. After tormenting the Walmart executives with a few minutes of ominous silence, he informed them he'd think about their proposition and curtly dismissed them, together with the rest of the human contigent that had been occupying the hall.

   Iskra sat in silence, twirling the end of the long silky fabric meant to cover her legs with her fingers and contemplated the paradox that the more of Loki's strife for power and dealings with political affairs she witnessed, the more she grew disgusted not at him but at her fellow humans.  
  "Iskra," his deep, velvety voice resounded in the cavernous room and she stood up, startled, walking quickly up to him as he beckoned her with his hand.  
  "Yes, Your Grace," she said quitely. As time went by and their unconventional, to say the least, relationship grew more intimate she had less and less qualms in calling him by his name but here, in his designated throne room and with his looking every bit the king he was, she felt compelled to address him properly.  
  "Would you be so kind to do me a favour?"  
  Iskra took a step closer, unsure for a moment if she had heard him right. There was something cryptic behind the sly smirk on his face that she didn't particularly care for.  
  "A favour?"  
  "You'd be surprised to hear this but since my ascension to the throne, I have been inundated by marriage proposals," he grinned especially wide at her not simply surprised but genuinely shocked expression, "European royalty mostly, but also rich and influential people in government, in the military, property and Wall Street tycoons, even popular personas from your so called entertainment industry. It's been highly amusing to toy with them, test their limits and see how low they'd go in their mindless greed and pursuit for power....However, this one man would not give up and frankly, I have had enough of his unrelenting insolence. He is about to enter the hall any minute now. I thought, perhaps, you could help me convince him to abandon his useless quest to procure his daughter to me before I have no other choice but to resort to violence."  
  Iskra stood speechless in front of him, stunned by the revelation and quite worried about what exactly he intended to ask of her.  
  "Please, don't resort to violence," was all she managed to reply in the end when he got up from his gold seat and hooked her chin up with his cold finger, lifting her face so she could look him in the eye.  
  "So?"  
  "What could I possibly do?"  
  He bent his head down and whispered it in her ear.  
  "No way! This is humiliating, I am not doing it," she crossed her arms in front of her indignantly and frowned at his attempt at an innocent smile.  
  "I will reward you," he purred in her ear, "do this for me and I will grant you a wish."  
  "Any wish?" Iskra shivered when Loki languidly ran his cool tongue along her bruised throat. She could hear the little squelchy sounds his mouth made as he licked and sucked at her skin and she tightened her thighs in a futile attempt to stop herself soaking through her thin satin panties.  
  "Anything I deem reasonable," he elucidated and slowly withdrew his lips from her neck.  
  Iskra could hear footsteps and muffled speech from the direction of the large double doors which were the main entrance to the grand hall. It sounded like people were trying to open the door without realizing the fruitlessness of the operation since Loki had no doubt placed his magic on it and it would only budge when he desired so.  
  "Ok, I'll do it," Iskra finally yielded and stifled an audible gulp when Loki wrapped his glowing with green energy fingers around her neck and presented her with his most devious vulpine grin, and a cold metal collar that materialized beneath his cool touch and clanked shut around her neck. When he removed his hands he was holding something connected to the collar - a long gold loop chain, which he didn't hesitate to tug sharply causing Iskra to jolt forward and fall into his leather and metal clad embrace. Loki gave her a disarming smile and steadied her shoulders, giving a reassuring pat on her back before he stepped back, away from her and returned to his throne.  
  "Now take your position at your master's feet, thrall."

 

  The doors suddenly sprung open and a tall man with glasses briskly walked into the hall with the certainty of someone who had been there before and knew his way.  
  "Your Majesty," the man smiled haughtily and bowed down in an exaggerated manner, "How wonderful to bask in the glory of your presence again."  
  "I cannot say the feeling is mutual, Mr..," Loki snapped his fingers, "...Brisk," then raised an elegant brow at the man with matching arrogance.  
  "Uh, that's Swift."  
  The correction to the man's without a doubt deliberately misremembered name hung in the air unacknowledged, as the king continued, "You should not have wasted your less than precious time, my answer is still 'no'."  
  Unperturbed by Loki's dismissal the man kept his Hollywood smile on his face like a shiny self-confidence shield.  
  He must have noticed her, Iskra thought, how could he have not: dressed in her very revealing slave-princess-Leia attire, she sat on the floor, Loki holding her golden chain in one hand while she leaned against one of his legs, a heavy collar around her discoloured neck. She was a sight one could not simply miss, and yet, Mr Swift, or whatever his name was had not given her a single look so far. She couldn't decide in herself whether she should feel relieved or offended. In the end, she settled on offended but continued to fake the expression of "empty-eyed despair that befalls a person once they have accepted their impending doom", as Loki had instructed her earlier. The cheeky bastard.

  "Your Majesty, I believe you could greatly benefit from my proposal. Allow me to offer my outstanding PR skills at your service. You could definitely use a little boost to how you score with the masses, public relations-wise, especially in light, or shall I say in "shadow", of the most recent events."  
"Careful now..."  
"Allow me to give you an example," the man blatantly interrupted him, "You have great potential but unfortunately lack conviction. Let's go over that footage from Germany. People were impressed with your grand entrance! That blow you delivered with the glowy stick-thingy of yours, what can I say - prime-time TV material, then making everyone kneel - smooth move, it translated well to the evening news. And by the way, that old geezer totally deserved to be blasted for standing up...See, I give praise where praise is due! So far so good...and then we have the "eye" incident. Now that stuff brought your ratings down."  
Iskra's heart was pounding in her chest with the approaching urgency of a cardiac arrest. What was the idiot thinking? Was he completely insane? It was a sheer miracle Loki hadn't "resorted to violence" at one of their previous meetings. Perhaps the man's impudence had grown with time?

  "That man survived," Loki's voice was darker than the polar winter.  
_Unlike what will happen to you if you don't shut up_ , Iskra thought but Mr Swift went on.  
  "Doesn't matter. See, the old man died but it was an instant, clean job. And the public have forgotten and forgiven. But no one wants to see people's eyes getting gouged out, no, it gives people bad dreams and indigestion. I'd say it's best avoided, or done in private. Personally, I don't care how many eyes you take out, just don't let them film you next time you do it."  
  The more the man spoke, the more he stretched his full lower lip into a toothy grin and the more he reminded Iskra of an ardent car salesman. Or a no-win-no-fee lawer. Or a shark.  
  "And that decapitation business from the other day," he shook his head, "too much blood, it freaked people out. Next time make sure you have the footage edited. I have a brilliant video production team at my disposal. You only need to ask. And what's wrong with the good old gallows anyway...although, you have to make sure it's a high drop, no one likes twitching. Firing squad? No? Not your fancy? Lethal injection, ok, I'm with you on this one - very anticlimatic. I don't recommend the electric chair either, The Green Mile kind of ruined that for people. See, I could be a great advisor as your father-in-law. We could talk anything - from executions to selling arms to third world countries...And as you know my daughter is one of the richest young ladies in America. And one of the most loved. And most beautiful. Marrying her will do wonders for your image. Trust me. We can design a PR campaign to clean up your slate, and turn you into a household name. My daughter has millions of fans across the world, with the right media presentation, they could be your fans too. Think of the possibilities. You can feature in one of her music videos. Show the public your romantic side: a walk at the beach, a candlelit dinner, a sightseeing holiday. They'll soon forget your misdemeanors. And you could move into my daughter's mansion, unlike this dank tower, it's worthy of a king...and his queen."  
  Finally realizing who the man's daughter was Iskra supressed a sigh and feeling a nudge from Loki's foot behind her, started coughing incessantly and with an overly dramatic wave of her arms clutched at her throat before letting herself fall down to her elbows. She knew that the king wouldn't react to her "choking fit" but the man with the glasses did, which was essentially the goal. He finally turned his head to look at her face, and pushed back on his glasses as if to see her clearer.

  "Your...uh...companion...servant...over there, uh...on the floor..."  
  "Slave," Loki corrected.  
  Mr Swift gulped, "Your...uh...slave, is she ok?"  
  Iskra overheard Loki's purposefully nonchalant voice from above her, "She's fine, I might have gone a bit too hard on her last night...I keep forgetting how fragile humans are. I wonder if she'll pull through. Anyway, back to your daughter. I think I might take you up on your offer. When is she available?"

  Through the occasional spluttering cough Iskra watched as a shadow briefly passed through the man's eyes but then, to her greatest astonishment, he blinked it away and gave Loki a broad smile.  
  "As soon as it suits you, Your Majesty."  
  "But I have to warn you, Mr Swift, I haven't been through what you people call hell and back to share my power. I don't need a queen sitting beside me on my throne, I need a slave lying beneath me in my bed, taking obediently whatever I give her, whenever I give it to her, in every which way it pleases me. Again and again, and again."  
  
   That should do it, Iskra thought, there was no way on earth Mr Swift would still willingly present his daughter to Loki as his potential bride after hearing this. She could see the man's inner battle written on his face. He was clearly one of those people who believed they could never lose and the possibility of defeat deeply bothered him. Was the lure of power pulling this man down to an all mighty low by agreeing to literally sell his daughter to a monster in exchange of being able to buy himself a royal title and rub shoulders with the king? It seemed so. Iskra vaguely wondered what was Miss Swift's take on the matter. Based on the image she was projecting to the public, Iskra concluded the girl was possibly as determined and self-entitled as her father. This was not going to end well. It was out of script but she decided it was her last chance to turn the tide in their favour.  
  "Your G-g-grace..," she stammered and pushed herself up on shaking arms, both set of eyes now on her, "I feel so weak. I know it's only been three days with no food and I am due to withstand two more as punishment for my earlier disobedience but I feel as if I'm dying. Would you be so gracious to offer me the fruit of your loins again and moisten my parched throat?"  
  That did it - as she desperately grappled at Loki's knees and thighs to get to his "fruit", coughing once or twice for good measure, she heard Mr Swift utter a mild obscenity and something in the lines of "I withdraw my offer" as he ran out of the auditorium without ever turning back.

 

   Iskra looked up at Loki's barely contained smile and burst out laughing. He tried to fight it for a second but then he let go and joined her - their laughter echoing in the hall room loud and clear.  
  "Moisten your parched throat?" He raised a brow at her, still laughing, grabbing both sides of his throne for purchase in an attempt to gain his composure back.  
  "I told you I'm not good at making shit up," she chuckled back at him, "At least it worked. You know, you owe me big time for this."  
  She stood and lifted her hands up to her neck in a silent request for him to take the chain off.  
  A flick of mischief flashed in Loki's eyes and his lips stretched in a lecherous grin.  
  "Ask me nicely."  
 Iskra glared at him and put her hands on both sides of her waist, "Please, Your Grace," she jokingly curtsied, "unshackle thy unworthy slave."  
  He tugged on the chain playfully, yet hard enough to make her lose her balance again and stumble forward.  
  "I believe you would sound more convincing on your knees."

 Iskra straightened herself up and stared back at him in defiance, the smile now gone from her face.  
  "You are not joking," she said quietlty.  
  "I am not. Kneel."  
  "Loki, please, don't make me do this."  
  "It would please me if you did."  
  "I just sat down chained at your feet. What more do you want?"  
  "I want you to mean it."

She shivered uncomfortably.

  "Don't you wish to please me, sweetness?" someone with Loki's voice whispered in her ear and a pair of cold hands landed on her shoulders and squeezed them gently, kneading at her tensed up muscles.  
Next, she felt the double's fingers breach the cover her flimsy Leia bikini bottoms provided for her traitorous centre which just as she feared was very much drenched. So drenched in fact that he wasted no time preparing her and simply slid two long cold fingers in, making her exhale sharply when he pulled her back against his, she realized with a degree of enjoyment, bare chest. Unlike the real Loki, who was currently busy intensely studying her reactions and fondling his growing arousal through the supple layer of leather covering his crotch, the only item of clothing the twin wore were the same patent tight black trousers.  
  She should just do it, Iskra thought. Let him have her, subjugate her. He had already taken her freedom anyway, and he was, after all, the king, so it shouldn't be such a big deal. Yet it was. She couldn't make herself do it. Her knees simply wouldn't bend. She felt that if they did, she would cease to exist, as herself, as the Iskra she knew and was. She couldn't let him take that away from her willingly.  
  "What exactly are you afraid of, darling?" The Loki-clone purred into her throat, his cool tongue flicking over her sensitive skin and underneath the hard metal collar, and in the meantime adding another finger to the sweet invasion of her core. Buried deep inside her channel, his digits rubbed at her sensitive slick ridges, probing her, while he gently teased her clitoris, circling it with his thumb.  
  Iskra looked pleadingly at the king's slightly impatient, expectant face and helplessly shook her head, unable to put her reservations and misgivings into words. She timidly anticipated his anger and subsequent discipline for her insubordination, however, he surprised her by relaxing his features into something that resembled a loving smile but surely could not be.  
  "I...this...this is is all I have: my pride. I'm afraid that if I give it away, if I lose it - I'll lose myself, completely.  
  "But I want you to lose yourself completely, little one," he caressed the side of her face with the back of his hand, "And soon you will, and I promise you, the experience will bring you the ever-elusive peace you've been craving," he smiled again, tenderly, warmly, "But I can wait. As for now..."  
  Iskra yelped in surprise as Loki's duplicate quickly pulled his fingers out of her and took his bare foot to the side of her shin: she lost her ground and found herself kneeling on the cold floor in front of the throne, her hands tightly gripping the king's leather trousers.

  Loki's lips stretched in a triumphant curve as he put his hands around her neck and she felt the collar disappear replaced by a cool ring of tingling healing energy which also vanished, not before, she was sure of it, every single blot of purple was gone from her skin. Her godly captor then leaned forward and kissed her passionately, slowly running his tongue through her mouth, painstakingly exploring it, tasting her and drinking in her essence. She let out a little sigh of protest when he pulled away reluctantly and took both sides of her face in his hands, gently circling her cheeks with his thumbs.  
  "Look at me," he rasped, his voice heavy with desire, deep and black as the velvety darkness in his eyes engulfing his green irises from within, just as Loki's double, now also kneeling behind her, grabbed her hips and with one carefully measured thrust impaled her on his thick cock.  
  "I want to see your face as you take in every last inch of me," the king purred as his double did just that - gave her every last inch of him in steady, powerful thrusts. "Tell me how it feels."  
"It...feels...so...good," she managed disjointedly in between the forceful shoves reverberating through her body, "so...full."  
  Loki gave her a wily little smirk, let go of her face and proceeded to undo his trousers with precise but maddeningly slow motions.  
  "What if I made it fuller," he crooned and took his formidable erection out, taking his time to leisurely stroke his rigid shaft, all the while keeping his intent gaze on her wide blue eyes.  
  When she whimpered in anticipation at the sight of his swollen, glistening with precum head, he pressed one long finger against her parted lips and uttered a sonorous "hush". He went on to grab the hair on the back of her head with a firm hand and next time his double slammed into her, making her body helplessly jerk forward, he slid his silky length in her mouth, the swollen head of his cock hitting the back of her throat. Iskra's muscles involuntarily tightened in a reflex to swallow down the foreign object and Loki groaned loudly, clenching his fingers into a fist in her hair and pulling hard at her scalp. She looked up at his face - his eyes were shut tight, his features set into an expression of rapturous bliss and every time he pushed forward and her cheeks hollowed around his throbbing length, he let out a low, rumbling sound from the depths of his heaving chest. Seeing the pleasure owning her body incited in him made her belly flutter and her core tightened around his twin's cock even more.  
The sensation of having her pussy and her mouth both filled at the same time was exquisite, delightfully overwhelming and mildly unnerving. She felt she was completely at his mercy, powerless, and somehow at the same time felt charged with electrifying sexual energy that set her neurons on fire and wrapped her brain in a fizzy mist of lust and excitement. Iskra wondered if Loki experienced something similar while fucking her since he, just like her, was receiving a double dose of sensation by feeling the tightness of her core and the slickness of her mouth both at the same time, thanks to his doppelganger. They fell into a frenzied rhythm, and soon Iskra felt she could not endure any more, as she was finding it inreasingly difficult to take in enough air in order to counteract being rendered breathless by the double's merciless ramming. His fingers dug deeper into the soft sides of her hips and she felt Loki secure his grip on her hair, the steel muscles in his thighs humming with the strain to control himself and not let in the urge to mindlessly pummel into her mouth. Iskra reached forward as far as she could and wrapped her hands around the leather-garbed globes of his rock-hard ass. With a drawn-out growl, both Loki and his clone came, the feeling of their cool seed coating her throat and the deepest parts of her centre prompting Iskra's own climax and she let her body mindlessly writhe and shudder in between their unyielding emrace.

 

  Loki kissed Iskra's dewy forehead and wrapped his arms tight around her slender body, now limp with post-coital bliss. She was sat on his lap, legs dangling off the side of the throne, her head nestled on his shoulder. 

  "So what is it that you wish?" he nuzzled at her neck.

 "Mmm," she opened her eyes and looked at him longingly, twirling her fingers in the sooty curls of his locks. It took her a moment to realize what he was asking her. _Right, the reward_. It was a crazy thing to ask and he'd probably say no but she decided to be brave and have a go at it anyway.

 "Could you take me out," she whispered and when he furrowed his brows in confusion she clarified, "you know, out in the city, like a date."

   Loki's frown deepened as he stared intently at her eyes, suddenly a bit too bright with the sheen of unshed tears. 

  "I'm sorry," she mumbled, looking away from him, determined not to let him see her cry, "I don't know what got into me. Forget about it. I wish for a new outfit. Wonder Woman. No, wait, I've got a better idea - Tomb Raider's Lara Croft. It's quite badass."

 Loki grabbed her chin and pulled her face back into his, studying her downcast eyes with an indecipherable expression, and wiped away a stray tear that had escaped her fluttering lashes.

  "I have no idea what you talking about so I guess I'll have to take you out on a date," he grinned.

  


	23. Hot Dogs And Regrets

                        **Chapter 23**  
              Hot-dogs And Regrets

 

Iskra stared at Loki's outstretched hand and simply couldn't make herself take it.

He had taken her through the heavy guarded underground car park, full of Chitauri guards and hundreds of their jet-ski looking flying vehicles, neatly parked row after row. She had gingerly looked around for any hint of the monstrous half-organic, half-mechanical leviathans but Loki had told her they were kept at a different location, somewhere on the mainland, from where they could easily slither out into the sky and patrol the city streets from above.

He had tied up her hands behind her back (as to not rise the aliens' suspicion, he had explained) but had taken his time and way too much pleasure while doing it. Then he had roughly (definitely more roughly than had been necessary) walked her through what had seemed a never-ending maze of concrete columns and parking spaces, going through three different levels and then through a secret tunnel.

The tunnel had been so dark that for the few minutes it had taken them to silently walk through it, Iskra's hands promptly untied and firmly clutching Loki's leather clad arm, she had felt as if she had gone blind.  
Eventually a dim light had framed an old looking iron gate and a heavy chain wrapped in several loops between the bars, locking it together. It had all seemed so surreal, like they'd been roaming the dungeons of an ancient castle, and not Stark Tower's bowels, until Loki had opened the gate with one quick swipe of his hand and a flash of green, and they'd been greeted by the dirty, white-tiled wall of a dark corner of 59 Street Columbus Circle subway station.

 

Now he stood leering back at her, his green eyes slightly glowing in the sticky dark around them, like those of a predator; offering his hand, expecting her to take it and make that last step over the threshold dividing the solid blackness behind her from the dingy, low lit environment of the underground station in front. Most of the city's subway system was fully operational, in spite of the energy preservation plan put in place because the new authorities to be had  decided that axing the subway would be like ripping the circulatory system out of a body.

The distinctive smell of reused stale air, urine and steel dust hit her hard in the face and Iskra inhaled deeply, overwhelmed by unexpected nostalgia. It had only been what, two weeks, since she had been captured, yet it felt like she hadn't left the tower in years, and Iskra involuntary shivered while looking toward the platforms in the distance where she could see a few people waiting for the next train.

At last she mentally shook herself off the uncertainty and grabbed Loki's hand. Suddenly aware of the familiar waft of air his magic created, she closed her eyes and held her breath while reality all around them and especially all around her trembling, tingling skin was being vigorously sucked toward Loki's direction, only to be then pushed out altered, transformed and modified to his desire. Looking straight at the shapes and colours blur and change form always made her feel dizzy and disoriented.

"I hope it's to your liking because you are going to wear it regardless," Loki smirked at the silken lime green sleeveless dress Iskra was now wearing.

She breathed out a puff of relief at how innocuously ordinary it looked. It even made her feel normal - for once not reminding her that she was only meant to be a toy for him to play with, or a slave. She gave Loki a small, thankful smile.

Only it wasn't the Loki she knew anymore! She stared at the handsome man in front of her with a funny, butterfly-wings flutter of a feeling in her stomach: his face hadn't really changed much except for the fact that it now looked endearingly flawed in a warm, human kind of way. The colour of his eyes was also less "vitreous emerald" and more "withered tobacco leaves". Shockingly, the cascades of his glossy black hair were completely gone, replaced by short, dark blond curls, but most strikingly of all, he was wearing regular men's clothing - a dove grey summer suit with a magnolia shirt and no tie, to be exact, that perfectly hugged his tall, lean frame.

"Would I pass as a human?" Loki grinned at her and openly relished her embarrassment as she broke eye contact, only just realizing that she had been staring at him with her mouth wide open.  
"Uh, yes, you would...pass, yes," _As a ridiculously good-looking one at that_ , she finished in her head.

 

"Surely, you are not expecting me to travel via this filthy, primitive contraption!" Loki glared at her when she sheered him away from the direction of the exits and to the rubbish littered station platforms, following the blue A service signs, as they passed "ALIEN SCUM" and "NOT MY KING" graffiti on the grimy walls.

"You said I could choose where we went," Iskra said firmly, trying to sound assertive yet not too defiant, "Well, Central Park has been turned into a Chitauri bootcamp, half of lower Manhattan is in ruins, there are check-points everywhere. So, we are going to Brooklyn Heights instead. Taking the train cannot be worse than what you subjected me to when you dragged me through the nightmarish hell between the cracks of the world! Now we're even."

The way Loki raised his brow at her told her he wasn't entirely convinced. Iskra had to therefore agree that her chosen means of transportation at least smelled worse.

 

The utterly surreal experience of riding the subway with Loki in disguise, sat next to her on the uncomfortable plastic seat, made her feel like she was dreaming. Iskra's heart hadn't slowed down a single beat since the moment they had crossed Stark Tower's cavernous subterranean car park and gone through the secret escape tunnel.

She couldn't shake off the troublesome, heavy feeling that this was too good to be true and Loki would soon decide that their debacle of a "date" was to be put to an end; that he would no longer waste his precious time with entertaining the ludicrous whims of lowly humans and thus debase his aristrocratic self, then get up, and violently haul her back into her luxirious four-walled prison.

So she was dead set on making the most of what little time she thought she had.

Iskra absent-mindedly swung her slender legs back and forth and stared at the dirty interior of the train in a desperate search to find a conversation topic and interrupt the dreadful silence that had shrouded them under its heavy veil. The NYC metro system had never been famous for its cleanliness but since the war began it had gone progressively worse. Broken glass, greasy take-away food containers, a bum in a hoodie and dirty jeans sprawled at the other end of the car, cigarette butts, something that suspiciously looked like a dead cat underneath one of the opposite seats, the guy in the hoodie and the mud-stained jeans getting up and walking towards them, clutching a knife pointed in her direction and murmuring something under his breath, a lost teddy bear, an overturned supermarket trolley...WHAT?! Terrified, she screamed, grabbed Loki's arm and pushed herself back into her seat in a bid to increase the distance bewteen her and the blade until the plastic behind her desperately creaked.

"Give me your...uhhgr," the thug was abruptly cut off by his own knife pressed flush against his own throat, dark eyes wide as saucers above his stubbled chin, staring with pure terror on his paralyzed face at the handsome, suited, sneering man sitting in front of him.

When the would be robber felt the invisible force holding his body hostage release he dropped the knife on the floor, crossed his chest, hissed "Diablo!" at Loki and ran away not bothering to pick up his discarded weapon or even look back.

"Thank you," Iskra slowly let go of his arm, still panting from the rush of adrenaline in her blood and rubbing at her knees in a comforting fashion.  
"What for? I didn't even touch him," he squinted at her in bemused suspicion.  
"Precisely! I'm glad you didn't uh....you know..," Iskra threw her arms in the air in an attempt to aid in her sudden loss of words by means of wild gesticulation until she settled on drawing an imaginary line across her throat with one finger, rolling her eyes back in her head and sticking her tongue out, "It would have spoiled the mood...and your suit," she finished.

They both chuckled simultaneously, with amusement but also with relief, as if a solid weight had been taken off their shoulders, and it went easier from then on. _Well, that's certainly one way to break the ice_ , Iskra thought and studied Loki's carefree expression. When he laughed in his human form, his eyes were surrounded by beautiful little crinkles, giving him an air of benevelonce he otherwise lacked and igniting a long-forgotten feeling deep inside her chest, flittering to the left side of it.

 

They got off at High Street to slightly less garbage strewn around but the bad smell persisted, now a deep, nauseating aftertone of corruption added to it. Iskra forbade herself to dwell on the question of exactly what the source of the malodour was. 

She stopped dead in her tracks at the top of the narrow staircase, her silky green dress swaying in the breeze. The fresh air from under the trees' canopies found its way to her flushed face, then brushed against her parted lips and once again found herself unable to take the last step leading to the bristling world outside. It wasn't just because she had essentially been held under house arrest (made worse by the fact that it wasn't her house!) and that had slowly caused her to suffer with cabin fever and at the moment, ironically, with agarophobia. It was also because her rented apartment, the place she had called home for the last few years, was around the corner, literally minutes away from where she now stood. It was too much.

Iskra was suddenly overwhelmed by painful wistfullness, grief and a feeling of impending doom. She regretted bringing Loki here, she didn't even know why she had done it in the first place. She had no actual intention of showing him her place or even telling him about it, so she guessed it was because she thought she would never walk through the park, never see her favourite spot on the promenade again and never take another glance at Manhattan's skyline across the water, so coming here would give her closure, would give her the opportunity to say goodbye.

Loki wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin onto her shoulder, nuzzling the side of her face and breathing in her scent, "You are afraid again, my little slave-girl," he cooed, his cold breath making her shiver helplessly in the warm summer afternoon, "Why? Isn't this what you wanted?"

His lips slid down her cheek and found her neck, leaving a trace of ice cold wetness behind them that quickly dried up in the air, stealing her warmth as it lifted from her skin."  
"I don't know what I want anymore," she whispered, unable to hide her melancholy, "I feel lost."  
"Let the lost lead the fallen then," Loki said in theatrical intonation and coaxed her over the last step. "Show me the place you've been yearning for."  
                                ...

He let her walk in front of him through the half-empty streets of the borough - without the tourists New York seemed eerily empty. They made way to occasional cars driving slowly through the dead thraffic lights, and soon strolled into the luscious greenery of Pier 1. Amidst the alien invasion tending to the lawns had obviously been put on the back burner as the place looked considerably more like an overgrown countryside field than the neat trimmed gardens Iskra had been so fond of in the past. Still, she had loved to come here and enjoy the view before her daily commute to The Cogs and Rears downtown. It had helped clear her mind.

The long grass was now brushing at her bare knees and butterflies and bees were making a feast of the abundance of wild flowers that had broken through the sea of green. The scent of sweet summer polen and warm hay was mixing nicely with the salty breeze coming from the East River and she could easily ignore the undertones of decay if she didn't let herself inhale too deeply.

They eventually came across a lonely hot-dog stand and Iskra excitedly decided to right the terrible injustice of Loki never having tried one before.  
"They are not actually made from dogs," she chuckled at his unsure expression and deeply furrowed brow as he sniffed at the sausage in his bun and poked at the slivers of sauerkraut on top of it.  
He scrutinized the fast food item with religious precision by bringing it inches away from his eyes, then taking it two feet back and then forth again, and after what felt like an obscenely long period of time for someone to be examining a hot-dog and by the time Iskra had already eaten half of hers, he slowly opened his lips and graciously took a bite.  
"I mean, they were not, you know, before the invasion. Now, after your alien army has depleted our resources and wreaked destruction to factories and such, who knows what they put in them."  
She watched through fits of laughter Loki's throat constrict around the piece of half-swallowed hot-dog and his effort to mask his revulsion by emitting a small cough, all the while guarding his mouth with an elegant hand.  
"You will come to regret this," he glowered at her with thunderous eyes but when he finally managed to swallow the offending morsel and lowered his hand, he was smiling.

By the time they reached the waterfront and climbed down the Granite Prospect, seating themselves at the bottom of the stairs, Iskra had finished hers. She was making a scene of licking her fingers to Loki's disapproval when she saw him swiftly wave his wrist as his mostly untouched hot-dog popped out of existence with a sound which could only be described as the exact opposite of "pop".  
She eyed him up, the question involuntarily rising to her lips, "When you made it...disappear, where did it actually go?"  
"To the filthiest, most foul depths of the inter-dimensional dumping ground, where it unquestionably belongs," he grinned at her and pulled her onto his lap.

As the daylight was slowly being sucked in beyond the horizon, the aftermath of the invasion was becoming more evident - plumes of smoke drew dark patterns in the purplish-orangey sky, in the distance the heavy metalic carcass of a leviathan slowly swam in and out between the edges of the concrete jungle, and the silent bulky silhouettes of the shrapnelled skyscrapers across the water rose mostly devoid of their twinkling lights and thus resembled a threatening onslaught of an army of giants in the night. The city that never slept had gone torpid.

Saddened by the dismal view Iskra moaned softly and let her body relax into Loki's long arms tightening around her, one hand finding its way down her dress' neckline, his fingers clamping down around her sensitive nipple, then its equally sensitive twin, as it stiffened quickly under his vigorous touch. Iskra squirmed both because of the pain and in an attempt to find a better fitting possition in Loki's lap, suddenly finding the size and hardness of his erection pressing through his woollen trousers against her bare thighs uncomfortable.  
He followed her sigh with one of his own, the cool air, expelled from his lungs like a lover's caress on her burning neck.  
"It wasn't meant to be like this. It's not the kind of war I'm used to."  
Iskra looked back at him and saw the fiery disc of the setting sun reflected in his eyes; she also saw something she hadn't seen there before - regret.  
"How many wars have you been in?" she asked quietly.  
"A few."  
"So, I guess, you are older than you look then."  
"More than a thousand of your Midgardian years. Plenty of time to do plenty of terrible things."  
She gulped. There was no hint of boastfulness or exaggeration on his face, he wasn't trying to shock her - only genuine sorrow pained his beautiful features.

"I would have gathered more than a handful of transgressions myself had I lived for a thousand years. Don't beat yourself over it - it could have been a lot worse. At least you haven't committed genocide!"  
"Actually..." Loki's eyes briefly widened, then grew distant again, and the red glow in them no longer seemed to be a reflection of the sun, "I once nearly did."  
Iskra shivered both from his revelation and because she suddenly felt very cold - her nipples had gone competely numb under his frosty fingers.  
"You should despise me, you should recoil from my touch," he slid his big, cold hands down her ribcage and stroked her stomach, making her exhale sharply, running one along her inner thigh, kneading at her soft skin, his other hand then holding her waist in a secure grip. "You shouldn't try to seek solace where there is only anguish to be found." He tightened his hold on her then, pulling her back against him hard and making her wince, "I will ruin you."

  
She didn't know what to say to him to make him feel better. She wasn't even sure she wanted to - after all he was the reason for the destruction and chaos all around her, and even if she didn't count his new monstrous confession or the hundreds of thousands of deaths the Chitauri had caused with or without Loki's immediate order, he, himself had committed his fair share of murder. Right in front of her very eyes, too. Yet, she felt a compulsion to wrap her arms around him and tell him it was going to be all right, tell him he shouldn't be too hard on himself, tell him...what? That she knew deep down inside he just needed a loving hug, acceptance and acknowledgement? _If you were having a few loose screws before, girl, now the whole thing is crumbling down and you are leaving a trail of parts behind you!_

She turned so she could face him properly and swung her legs to straddle his lap, leaning forward so her lips brushed against the imitation of a human stubble on his side. It felt good and she rubbed her own cheek against it, first gently, then hard until it hurt and half a moan of pleasure, half a yelp escaped her tightened throat. Loki growled and moving his hands to cup her behind, he took her lower lip between his teeth and bit her softly, then bore down until she whimpered. He dug his nails into the smooth globes of her rear, squeezing and scratching, and she thrust her core toward his arousal, again and again, relishing the grounding quality the pain in her tormented mouth and ass provided.  
"Take me," she whispered, writhing in his arms and grappling at the silver buckle of his belt, "give me your anguish." She grabbed his swollen cock, hard as a piece of chiselled marble, in all its non-human, rubescent glory and pushing her sodden panties to the side, directed its glistening, velvety tip to her burning entrance. "Ruin me," she rasped in his ear as he slowly buried his length inside her slick depths, inch after excruciating inch, stretching her in a bittersweet sensation of aching delight.

                         ...

 

Iskra skipped along Loki's side, face flushed and feeling much warmer, despite having to discard her underwear after they had finished finding solace in each other's arms on the granite stairs, since it had been completely wrecked. She had gawked at the shredded wet silky cloth as it reverted back to a piece of Tony's Stark fluffy bath towel once it hit the top of the overflowing trash can with a brief flash of green light. Was she ever going to get used to this?

  
They continued right on the boardwalk, along the waterline, passing Fulton Ferry Landing, and walked under the colossal body of the Brooklyn Bridge, black and solemn in the newborn night, and then walked some more. All unnecessary lights in NYC had been turned off shortly after the war had started. And behind them, only the occasional lonely flicker, high up at the top of the steel wires indicated the location of the bridge in the darkness. Left on only for the Chitauri warriors on their jet-ski aircraft, and their flying mammoth woodlice, no doubt, she mused angrily. Which made the bright beacon of hope in front of them look more and more attractive with each step.

  
"I always come here...I mean, I used to always come here when I wanted to cheer myself up. Look at it, it's so pretty!" she squealed with excitement.  
Loki studied their destination point with a lot less enthusiasm and a lot more reservation, his arms crossed in an elegant display of harsh criticism.  
"This...," he indicated with a nod, "...crudely built contrivance with what looks like the sole purpose of distracting infants and people of questionable intelligence, more likely to induce vertigo than a perceived sensation of happiness?"  
Iskra didn't feel insulted at Loki's jab, on the contrary - she relished the arrogant curve of his perfectly groomed eyebrow and the condescending smirk gracing his mouth - it meant he was feeling better.  
"Two weeks ago I thought I'd never feel the sun on my skin again, I thought I was done for. And quite a few times after that too. And now," she waved her arms toward the array of bright colours and flickering lights, "we are here, and it's beautiful and it's...it just feels so incredibly good to be alive! You know, the residents decided to keep it working, sacrificing a bit of their own power when all the other lights and amusements went off. To give people hope."  
The look on his face changed to unreadable, intense and somewhat strained.  
"Come on," she reached for his hand and he let her take it. "Let's have a bit of fun! I won't tell anyone, and even if I did they wouldn't believe me."  
Iskra giggled and led him on board, trying to pat down her tousled hair and pulling on the hem of her dress like a shy school girl, "You have to make this longer, there are kids around."  
"You know I won't," he gave her a false pat of compassion on the knee, as they sat at the front of the chariot, Iskra snickering at his effort to accommodate his impossibly long legs.  
Then, amidst a sparkling symphony of warm lights and under the accompaniment of Bugler's Holiday, the world started spinning, and to Iskra, Jane's Carousel felt like Christmas in July.

Sat on the two of the bobbing horses in front of them were a couple of young children, laughing gleefully and waving at their parents down on the ground. The closest to them - a little girl with piggy tails turned around and gave them a broad, carefree smile. Iskra smiled back and rested her head on Loki's shoulder, wiping at her eye. If that turned out to be her last time coming here, she would be content that she had made the best of it - she couldn't remember the last time she had shed a tear of happiness.

                            ...

They crossed the Brooklyn Bridge back into Manhattan. Iskra suggested Loki summon someone to pick them up but he insisted on walking.  
"The sceptre, as you so recklessly saw for yourself not so long ago, allows for a two-way connection and control," he stopped walking and looked her straight in the eyes under the bright night sky.  
Exceptionally bright, she had to admit, realizing that she had missed the stars as much as she had missed the sun, if not more. One good thing had come out of all this extra-terrestrial madness, she thought - after most of the city had gone dark, the constellations had returned, loud and clear, stripped off the suffocating blanket of artificial light. And on a cloudless, crisp night like this, Iskra could even discern the wondrous, twinkling sleeve of the Galaxy, majestically spread above her head.

She returned her attention to the mystical man in front of her, who had come somewhere from those depths of infinite cosmic blackness sprinkled with diamonds above her to conquer and subjugate her world. The man who she had thought had close to absolute power. The man who was about to admit that he didn't, just as she had suspected.

He looked so lonely then, a pale, tall figure cut against the gaping mouth of the suspension bridge behind him, his eyes flashing defyingly at her in the darkness, ready to glare and spit poison at her, was she to mock or dismiss him. She found herself breathless, staring back at him, silently willing him to accept her metaphorical hand, stretched out to him.  
"I have thousands of humans and Chitauri at my command, to do with as I please, yet, the shadow of the Other's will hangs above my neck as the blade of an executioner's sword. I fight it, oh how I fight it, with teeth and nails, and with the most serpentine deceptions of my seidr, but on occasion it prevails. You are enough of a liability already, what with Natasha's behind-the-curtain political games, and using the sceptre now would only give The Other another glimpse at my...weakness."

  
Iskra was at a loss. For a moment she found herself on the verge of throwing her arms around him, then decided against it - he certainly wouldn't appreciate the gesture, she scolded herself. In the end she did what she had already done in her mind - she offered him her warm, trembling hand under night's veil of cool darkness, with the extra caution and apprehension of someone actually offering their still-beating heart, freshly ripped out of their chest.

Loki examined the offering with the clinical interest of someone observing an intriguing but repugnant looking specimen of a newly discovered bug. Once again, regret marred his face, this time no doubt at what he had just allowed himself to share with her, the lowly, obtuse, pertinacious human. However, she would not give up - she held her hand out, the muscles in her upper arm already starting to complain at the exertion, and was not going to retract it unless he physically pushed her away.  
"You said you have nothing else to give but hurt. Well, I have not much to offer either but I have been left so empty inside that even hurt is better than the void. And if this," she encompassed the dark city in one wide swoop of her aching arm which she then put back in position, "if you - are headed for hell, I will stand beside you in the flames and watch the world burn by your side."

  
With a slight nod of his head, and a sigh of relief, that could have just as easily been an opportunistic fruit of her own imagination, Loki took her numb fingers into his cold, smooth hand, and entwined them with his long, pale ones, then brought them up to his lips and kissed them.

  
"You will come to regret this more than feeding me dog meat," he smirked as they strolled along the mostly vacant by now streets in search of a taxi.  
"I was messing with you, I hope you know that."  
Iskra waved at the dark shape (soon after NYC had stopped being a prime tourist destitation and most of the cabs had gone out of business, the remainer had abandoned their iconic yellow colour in favour of the stealthier black) of a slowly moving car and jumped excitedly when it stopped.  
"What I know is that you owe your King and Master a dinner, appropriate for my stance," he pulled her toward him and his free hand wondered under her dress, giving her bare ass a loud smack.  
Iskra's face contorted in a troubled expression, unrelated to his smarting reprimand. "We can't, look at the time..." she absent-mindedly checked her empty wrist.  
Loki shrugged and curved his devilish lips into an angelic smile.  
"It doesn't concern us, darling."  
"Are you telling me you are going to breach your own curfew?" Iskra playfully scowled at him as they approached the idling car.  
"Of course I will. I do what I want."


	24. Paint It Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit hits the fan.
> 
> TW: violence and dub con

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the big delay, guys! And for the novel of a chapter! I hope it finds you all well and happy! If not, simply delve into the wonderful, sensual, mesmerising stories of Caffiend, Hurricanerin, Misreall and Dianamolloy and you are bound to feel better! These lovely ladies always know how to make me smile :)

Chapter 24  
**Paint It Black**

 

Iskra felt oddly elated and mildly terrified leaning on Loki's chest as they stood beside the black cab. Elated, because the prospect of actually going to a restaurant for a proper dinner date with the handsome, terrifying and yet tragic Asgardian prince, Midgardian conquerer and as it happened -  her kidnapper, somehow made her feel warm and fuzzy inside and woke up the romantic part of her heart.

The rest of it pounded hard in her tight chest, scared stiff that the driver - a balding, burly man in a grubby white shirt, was seconds away from certain death. The unsuspecting fool had just insisted on patting the king-in-disguise' pockets down even though his suit was so well-tailored and exquisitely cut that the way his tight trousers snuggly embraced his hips suggested that not only did he not have a concealed weapon underneath them but also -  no concealed underwear. At the moment, surprisingly, Loki appeared mildly amused, occasionally shooting her an impish look of dark promise no doubt for all the depraved ways in which he was going to make her pay for the little humiliations he had been forced to endure. Iskra had to admit that part of her was secretly looking foward to it. She gave him a coy smile and held him tight to his arm, silently praying he didn't lose his cool as the driver now shone a torch at their eyes, his other hand cautiously hovering over the grip of his gun, openly displayed in a holster fastened to the belt of his filthy jeans.

She didn't like the way he eyed her up - it wasn't just the dirty, lustful look she often saw in her clients' hungry eyes. There was something else in it, mistrust, aversion even. It made her blood run cold.

"Forgive me, Sweet Cheeks," the man grinned at Iskra's scrunched up eyes as she pulled down on her short dress again in a belated attempt to hide her equally void of undergarments private area, "but one can never be too careful these days, especially at this time of night. Those damned blue-eyed zombies, man, like it's not enough we have to deal with them fucking Crab People." He laughed and playfully punched Loki's shoulder, "Crab people, crab people," he chanted, "get it? Taste like crab, talk like people?"

It was clear from the faint glower on Loki's otherwise expressionless face that he most certainly did not "get it" but he, nevertheless, continued behaving despite the bald man's odd familiarity and subtle threat. Iskra frowned when the driver's good humour dissipated as he stared warily at Loki's pretend-human face.

"What's up with your boyfriend? His eyes look funny."

Iskra's stomach turned and she tasted bile at the back of her throat.  
_We should turn around and go back. This is a mistake_.

"Don't mind him," she forced herself to say with a fake smile as she swallowed, "it's nothing. We had one hell of a party earlier at his hotel. He was super strung up so I gave him a little something to help him relax. He's fine, he's just very high."

"Surely you mean very tall?" Loki finally interjected, raising a gracious brow at her.

The driver guffawed at Loki's confused expression, winked at Iskra and gestured towards the back door, "Hop in."

Thanks to His Infernal Majesty, sitting next to her with a fiendish smirk on his face and cold fingers tracing invisible ancient runes on her inner thighs, and his army of alien crustaceans, all honourable establishments had been shut for the night. Iskra was aware of only two places in lower Manhattan that defied the curfew and kept their doors open for opportunistic customers - her own workplace, of course, and...she leaned forward, "To Jekyll and Hyde, please."

"Password?"

"What password?!"

"Sorry, Sweet Cheeks," the driver turned around, gave her a crooked smike and once again, to her horror, shone the light at their faces, "can't take you there. What are you two love bunnies doing out here at this time, anyway, all dressed up and unarmed? It's not safe."

Completely disregarding Loki, he leered at Iskra and winked again. "I feel like I know you from somewhere, Sweet Cheeks?"

For his own good, she decided to ignore him, apart from a firm shake of her head to indicate that she did not know him and had no desire to ever get to know him, and then grabbed Loki's thigh and inched closer to him in a demonstration of ownership. Or of rather, being owned. And although it was clear from Loki's blaring indifference to the man and the condescending smirk playing on his thin lips, that he did not really consider the sleazy human in front of him any sort of a threat or danger, Iskra still found herself longing for his reassuring touch.

"I was there only a few weeks ago, what's happened?"

"The Resistance, that's what happened," he spat, "the place is their new haunt."

Iskra felt the blood drain from her face as Loki's hand froze a few centimetres away from her clit. _Dear Mother Of God_. This simply could not be happening. She had heard rumours that the rebels used different locations in and around the City to conduct their meetings and reorganize their ranks but never in a million years did she think she would acidentally find one of them, let alone lead Loki to them. And due to some crazy, unfortunate coincidence, or a bout of especially bad luck, she was about to become responsible for the undoing and the downfall of the Resistance. And most likely the death of everyone gathered there that night or stupid enough to stand in Loki's way.

"I'm not allowed to bring anyone there unless they know the password. Bad for business," the greasy driver snorted, "good for staying alive - that's what the fucking bastards said to me. You look like a smart girl, better keep your head on and your pretty face out of trouble. 'Cause that's what they are - trouble. I told 'em to go and shove it where the sun doesn't shine but the arseholes know how to persuade a fella," he shook his balding head and loosened the collar of his shirt with his free hand, "if you know what I mean."

"Of course, yes, we'll..."

"Let me persuade you," Loki's cold voice interrupted her, cutting through the stifled air like a knife and Iskra jolted next to him, worried that the weapon of choice for his persuasion might indeed be a blade.

She audibly sighed when she saw a wad of folded banknotes in his outstreched hand.  
The grubby man snatched the money and shoved it deep into his open shirt, not bothered to count it. There was no need, judging by its size, the thick bundle probably amounted to more than what he made in a month. Tony's questionably earned cash, she thought, cementing Tony's not so questionable truth - that everybody had their price, which in dire times progressively went down, as desperation shot up.

 

The driver stopped at the corner of 7th Avenue South and Grove Street.  
Eager to get out of the car as soon as possible, Iskra opened the door and swung one leg out when all of a sudden she felt the man's sticky hand on her shoulder.

"You'll need this -" he chuckled as she turned to look at him and raised a brow at the crumpled piece of folded paper he was holding, "the password."

Iskra glanced at Loki who leaned back in his seat, legs crossed, entertaining a sly, predatory smile. She gulped - something was wrong, very very wrong. She grabbed the paper but the man closed his fingers down on her wrist and once more shone the bright light into her face.  
She tried to pull her hand free but he held her tight and wouldn't let go. She felt as if time slowed down to a near stop.

"I knew it," the cab driver exclaimed, you are one of DeAngelo's hookers! The one the aliens took - the space king's whore! How did you make it out of Stark's tower in one piece? I thought he'd have fucked you to death by now."

Iskra saw him reach down toward his belt in slow motion, a hungry grin baring his yellow teeth, "I would gladly do that for him, Sweet Cheeks, but the price the rebels are offering is more alluring and will sort me out for life, so count yourself lucky. Sorry, pal," he cocked his head at Loki who was still smirking as if they were conversing about the capriciousness of the weather on a hot summer afternoon and not about kidnap, rape and murder, "nothing personal!"

Sparks exploded all over the interior of the car as the driver's bullet ricochetted off the Asgardian's chest and the loud bang made Iskra's ears pop and then painfully ring, while at the same time she felt a swoosh of air across her face and milliseconds later she was staring at the shocked face of the bald man, his wide eyes twitching between her and then back to the one dagger sticking out of his shoulder and the other one pinning his right hand to his thigh.

"Iskra, get out of the car." Loki's deep voice glided over the chime in her ears like a century old glacier grazing down a crumbly mountain side.

She turned to him terrified, her stunned brain at first unable to comprehend what he had just said.

"Get. Out. Of. The. Car. Now!"

Overwhelmed by sudden nausea, she slid out of her seat, as a cascade of blood spurted from behind her, spraying her back with sickening warmth. She stumbled on shaking knees, slammed the door and ran as fast and as far out as she thought she had to go so she didn't have to hear or witness anything of what was happening behind her. She collapsed to the ground, eyes closed and panting, hugging herself and rocking in the darkness until she felt Loki's cold hand gently stroking the back of her head.

"Did you get the password, pet?"

She opened her shaking hand, inspecting the crinkled piece of paper, now half-way soaked in blood, and for a moment failing to remember how it came to be in her possession and what she was supposed to do with it.  
Then she nodded vaguely to no one in particular and opened it, hoping deep down inside that the words would be ruined, rendered undecypherable by the dying man's gore as a final act of good will from the Gods, if any were watching and caring enough to save her conscience and any more people from dying later that night.  
_If I am the chief of sinners, I am the chief of sufferers also,_ it read.

With a deep sigh, Iskra got up, turned around and studied Loki's ruined dove-coloured suit.

"I knew it wouldn't last."

She hoped he knew she meant everything else but his clothes.

"You need a new suit. Paint it black this time," she whispered, then added, "my hair too. It seems I, too, am in need of a disguise."

 

Iskra went through the motions of having her dress, this time a more elegant and mercifully longer black number, patted down, as Loki had delivered the secret phrase that granted them access to the lair of the Resistance and then led the guards to believe that he was a business man from down South looking to invest into the overthrowing of the alien usurpers. The only time when she made eye contact with the heavily armed men behind the front doors of Jekyll and Hyde was when they shone another flashlight at her eyes to check for unnatural hues of blue.

The place looked smaller and darker than the last time Iskra had been there. Under the dim light from the scattered Victorian style lamp posts, the booths were full of people, sat quitely conversing, drinking and dining, blissfully unaware of who had just entered their safe haven. Loki strode through the dingy room studying the dusty horror film props and dormant animatronics with growing interest: gargoyles, werewolves, mummies, gruesome things floating in jars, props and pictures of various monstrocities, severed heads - humanoid and animal-like, hanging on the walls and skeletons dangling from the ceiling.

"Ah, another contradiction of humanity - you are fascinated by death and prone to worship monsters, yet you would do anything to avoid the former, and everything to rebel against the latter."

Loki led her to a little unoccupied red-topped table and beckoned her to sit down on the dark leather bench. Behind him, at the nearest booth a drunk man lay swooped over an empty bottle, snivelling and talking quietly to himself, his face obscured by the shaggy mess of his matted hair.

"I want what he's got, please," Iskra murmured, "And I need the bathroom."

She went past her insufferable tormentor without even granting him a single glance and slowly walked away, her steps smothered in tired apathy.

The woman in the mirror clearly wasn't her. It couldn't be. Not because she had never seen her hair jet black before and it made her look strikingly different but also because her features somehow looked sharper, more defined - she had lost weight and with it her dimples; her baby blue eyes were rimmed with red and underlined by dark half-circles the colour of bruised plums. And there was a haunting expression in them, something she didn't recognise hiding beneath the surface, teeming and slithering to get out. _That's me, turning into a monster too_ , she shuddered and splashed water on her pale face, hoping to wash away the demons, knowing full well it wouldn't work.

She stepped out into the hallway where the walls had been made to look as if they were heavily stacked with different coloured leather-bound books and she shivered when she felt a draft lift the hem of her dress. She followed it, her hand absent-mindedly stroking the fake book bindings and right there, past another closed door and behind the corner, stood the back exit. Unlocked, unguarded and wide open into the breezy night. Iskra gingerly looked around but there was no sign of other life, no hurried footsteps, no crinkling of clothes, or cocking of guns. Just her deep breathing in the blissful silence.

 The cool summer breeze caressed her face as she neared the open door, the rustling of the trees outside breaking the unusual stillness of the night. There, outside, in the velvety blanket of the night lay her freedom. Six steps away. Five. Four. She inhaled the fresh air and held it in her lungs a moment too long before she slowly turned around and let it go, together with the idea of crossing the threshold.

Loki's dark shape stirred in the shadows near the other end of the passage. She wondered how long he had been standing there in silence, watching her, prowling.

She walked toward him, this time with her head held high.

"Did you know about this place?"

"I might have had an inkling."

She felt empty, drained and exhausted, standing up straight in front of him felt like too much of a chore, so she leaned against the wall. Then something barbed and clawed and pointy stirred in the hollow of her heart and anger bloomed like an ugly oil spill in a pristine sea to fill the vaccuum inside her. She had brought the wolf straight into the sheep's pen without a second thought. She was the biggest traitor to have ever blemished the face of the Earth.

"You used me," she hissed at him.

"Don't flatter yourself, pet. One way or another, I would have found this place. All I did tonight was mix pleasure with business. Do not tell me you have never allowed yourself such indiscretion," he winked at her. "Besides, this is only an exploratory visit, I do not intend to ruin our date with any more unnecessary violence."

"To hell with you and your date!"

She pushed herself off the make-believe bookshelf and started to leave but he pounced on her at once and pushed her back against the wall, the uneven surface painfully scratching her half-bare back.

"I thought you were going to watch the world burn with me?"

"Watch, yes, but help you set it on fire? Fuck no! Let go of me!"

He smirked and pinned her harder against the wall, holding both her wrists in one of his big hands above her head. _Once again the hands of a murderer_.

She furiously thrashed underneath his hold, her voice breaking, "You can't do this! We have to leave, please! These are my people!"

"You mean the people who put a price on your head knowing full well you were but a victim in all this?"

Angry tears tumbled out of her burning eyes as she searched for a counter argument and didn't find any.

"Please, don't kill them!"

"Your lack of reasoning skills astounds me yet again. I need to gather information about their plots and schemes first before I kill them. But they are traitors to the crown and they'll answer to me."

"Which crown?"

"My crown!" he snarled at her.

"The crown the Chitauri put on your head?More of a wreath of thorns if you ask me, and when you are done serving their purpose, they'll rip it off your head and crucify you!"

"Do not compare me to the weakling gods of your kind!"

"Why, you think yourself so much better?"

"Know your place or I'll have to remind you it!"

The temperature in the air around them had fallen dramatically and Iskra watched his eyes turn to glowing red pits of raging fire through the white mist of her hitching breaths. But she didn't relent.

"I thought you wanted me to be your friend!"

Loki threw his head back then and laughed, his voice poisonous and bitter, his eyes, however, back to their forest shade and when he returned their steely gaze on her he sneered, "Are you a slave? Then you cannot be a friend."

" 'Are you a tyrant? Then you cannot have friends.' I read through your stupid book collection, arsehole! Now get off me!"

Iskra threw her head from left to right, her mussed up hair falling into her face and obscuring her vision, as she tried to kick him but his body underneath the soft black wool suit pressing hard against her and restricting her movements could as well have been made of granite rock.

Her struggle and upset only seemed to amuse him further and he leaned down, nuzzling, nibbling and biting on her neck as his thigh pushed her legs open. A few futile squirms and ragged breaths later she was impaled on his cock, bouncing up and down against the wall, her legs dangling helplessly around his waist as he held her up in place with no effort, his thin mouth curved in a cunning, cruel smile. He took the stray locks out of her damp face and tucked them behind her ears clearing her glistening eyes but she slammed them shut.

"Look at me, as you ride my cock, my disobedient, lowly slut!"

"I hate your guts!" she spat out and turned her head to the side but he grabbed her chin and pulled her face back to his.

"It seems your dripping cunt dares to disagree."

He rammed into her and at the same time crashed his lips, still caught in a smirk into hers as she fought to get back the breath his cock had knocked out of her. She felt him let go of her wrists and she immediately bashed her hands, balled into fists onto his back as hard as she could while he kissed her violently, his teeth clanking into hers. She kept raining blow after blow at him as he pounded into her but with every subsequent buck of his hips she left more and more time between her strikes as they descreased in strength and conviction until she completely gave up on hitting him and wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders instead, running her fingers through his short curls and kissing his temples and the sharp line of his jaw.

 

 

"So what are they saying?" Iskra asked through her soft whimpers as she rested her head on Loki's shoulder and swirled her second shot of vodka in her hand.

He had just explained to her that he was secretly listening in on the group of Resistance rebels gathered around the central booth of the restaurant in his invisible duplicate form. She had taken a large swig of her drink at "invisible duplicate form". That was a fairy good excuse, together with betrayal to the human race, to decimate one's pledge to sobriety, she concluded.

"They are talking about the public execution," she took another swig, "about people disappearing never to be seen again. They suspect the Chitauri are hunting and eating them. They are wary of S.H.I.E.L.D, even when their agents are not sporting glazed over blue eyes, so they have allied themselves with the city's organised crime net instead...thus hoping to greatly boost their numbers and receive access to arms and ammunition...hmm, I have to admit, I am impessed," Loki paused pensively and then laughed.

"What?"

"You wouldn't want to hear that."

"Try me."

"They are speculating over your sexual skills. Perhaps I should have let them watch your little performance earlier-"

She nudged him hard in the ribs hurting her own hand in the process and he laughed again.

"How are you doing this anyway? How could you possibly be able to concentrate on two different things at the same time while being in two different bodies?"

"That helped," he smirked and slid his hand up her thigh, still wet with their combined fluids, "Carnal pleasures, the physicality of battle, power, knowledge, fucking you, thwarting the opposition's plans - the things I enjoy most, they clear my mind. It's a palpable sensation, almost like I've taken a potion, a remedy against the Mind Stone's control. Almost like the euphoria I experience in such moments flushes its tendrils away."

"What are you even talking about?"

"I still can't understand how and why you were immune to its power when the Chitauri drone used his gem on you. It must be some sort of an outside influence since your anatomy did not reveal anything out of the ordinary and the second time you came in contact with the Stone, that is, when you so foolishly tried to offer me your feeble assistance against the Sceptre, you were swiftly swept right under its power."

"You mean when I saved your ass from that ugly son of a bitch who was torturing you in your head?"

Loki's eyes grew cold again and he carefully withdrew his hand, running the tip of his tongue over his lips but decided to keep them shut.

"My anatomy? Is that why you asked them to scan my head? And there I was thinking you were simply concerned for my well-being," Iskra poured herself another drink and sipped again. "What did it say?"

"That the way your brain works, you should be at a neurological disadvantage not the opposite."

She blinked as the puzzle pieces inched their way together to form a picture of the solution in her mind, slowed down by the alcohol infusion.

"Wait, did you just say...Oh my God!" she cried out and sat straight up but then her face fell again and panic settled in as she kept patting down at her dress and fumbling at her non-existent bra. "Fuck, I must have lost them when you transformed my clothes."

"Are you looking for this?" Loki grinned and conjured up her missing bottle of pills in his hand.

She grabbed it, quickly turned the child-proof lid a few times before she managed to open it and tipped the tiny white tablets on the table.

"Here, take these," she pushed five towards him - his being almighty wizard space-god and all, then added two more, for good measure.

"Are you trying to poison me? You know, you'll have a better chance in succeeding were you to conceal the noxious substance, not that it would do me any-"

"This is it," she interrupted him drunk on her revelation, and well, the vodka, "the outside influence - my ADHD pills! It all makes perfect sense now. I never took my meds on the night I saved your..." she paused and reconsidered, "...offered you my feeble assistance."

"This is ridiculous," Loki huffed, visibly insulted by her proposition, "Midgardian medicaments would not affect my body."

"Then you won't lose anything if you try."

He growled under his breath and gave her a threatening look but reached for the tablets regardless.

"Chew them, it will work faster."

"By Bor, this is vile!" Loki grimaced at the bitter taste and in turn finished the last of his drink in one gulp. "I hope you are right because otherwise you will suffer the consequences, which will be dire. There's only so much assault on my taste buds I would tolerate in one day. Next thing you are-" he stopped and looked around the room with a strange look in his eyes, his thin lips ajar.

"Loki?" she said softly, "Your Grace? Are you alright?"

She shook his arm, suddenly afraid that the pills had somehow harmed him and he was about to make her pay for it.  
Loki raised his hand to silence her while scanning the dimly lit restaurant, his eyes out of focus and back to their vivid emerald green, having abandoned their withered-leafy human guise. Then, as they gained concentration, he turned sharply to her and she felt as if his endless dark pupils were piercing the very fabric of her soul.

"I had forgotten what silence sounded like. How quiet it is."

Iskra looked around confused - the room was not particularly loud but with the low rumble of the television set, people's buzzing conversations, occasional screech of a pulled out chair and clanking cutlery, and the drunk guy's beside them endless mumbling it was far from quiet.

"He's gone," Loki's satisfied smile felt like a caress on her face and Iskra smiled in return.

The drunk elderly man suddenly banged his fists on the table and his mutterings turned into desperate sobs which quickly intensified as at the same time the rest of the place fell unnaturally queit. The cause of his disquiet appeared to be the TV screen in the corner from where the pretty face and condescending voice of Megyn Kelly read the late night news. A man from the crowd of rebels further on stood up and pointed a remote control at the television, raising the volume as Iskra gasped and found herself involuntarily reaching for Loki's hand.

He let her hold it, or perhaps, she thought, he didn't even realize she was holding it, his gaze fixed firmly on the flat screen in the corner, a growing frown marring his beautiful face.

"My boy! See what they did to him!"

The drunk stumbled out of his chair and fell to the floor, clutching at his chest as the footage of Scott's beheading was being broadcast on FOX news.

"Turn off the damned thing!" someone shouted as the old man wailed on the floor but whoever had the remote had shamefully retreated into the crowd.

A few people gathered around Scott's father and pulled him up on his feet but he stumbled again, this time in Iskra and Loki's direction, and with a few more uncoordinated steps he ended up sprawled on the ground in front of the king's feet. The man got himself up to a sitting position, ran his shaking hands through his tangled grey hair, and his wet face, peppered with stubble and red blotches crinkled up into another expression of pure anguish, as the news now replayed the very moment Loki had taken down the double edged sword to his son's neck, this time in slow motion.

Unable to feign indifference any longer, Iskra jumped out of her seat and knelt beside the crying man, wrapping her hands around his frail body, shaking through his wild sobs.

"My boy! He was innocent! They killed him! They cut his head off! Those bastard aliens and their demon king!"

_Don't look at him don't look at him don't look him oh please don't look at him_

The man lifted his head from Iskra's chest, leaving the front of her black dress covered in tears and snot and did exactly what she prayed he didn't do.

Loki narrowed his eyes at him and returned his gaze with a cold, expressionless look on his face. Iskra wondered if he actually looked at him or through him.

"Do I know you, lad? Are you part of the Resistance? Did you know my Scotty?" the man croaked.

Behind him, Iskra shook her head at Loki, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.  
The head of the Midgardian Kingdom of America stood up and offered his hand to the father of the man whose head he had removed only two days prior and pulled him back up to his feet.

"No, I am not. But I met your son once. You should be proud, he died with his honour intact."

"Honour? There's no other in death, boy. Especially not when you die kneeling. It should have been me. I was meant to go, not him, I...but he took it upon himself, he wanted to stand out, to impress me, be a hero. He believed he could convince that creature," he waved towards the TV set, its screen frozen on a still image of Loki's face, a fierce look in his eye, his golden horns gleaming, "he calls himself a God, but acts like the Devil, and you will always lose if you try to bargain with the Father of Lies, that's I told my Scotty. I told him not to go, I begged him not to go and he didn't listen, and they captured him, and they tortured him, and they killed him! I would have died for him, I would have jumped into the abyss of hell for him!"

Something fluttered in Loki's eyes and in that moment gunshots and screams tore through the deadly silence around them and for the first time in her life Iskra found herself actually relieved to hear gunshots and screams.

"The Chitauri! We are under attack!"

"Did you-?" Iskra's throat painfully tightened as she shouted at Loki but her question got lost in the deafening noise of more screams, gunfire, alien blast beams and gurgling.

Loki shook his head at her as green light enveloped his tall figure, his tailored black suit and human features instantaneously replaced by his regal looks, official leathers, full armour and horned helmet. Stunned, Scott's dad dislodged his hand from his son's murderer's grip and took a step back, his red, streaming eyes wide with horror and hatred.

More screams echoed from across the room, and a glowing blue-eyed agent, garbed in black shot at them, or as it soon became clear - at Iskra - since the bullets flew inches away from her head and got stuck into the wall behind her. With lightning speed Loki stood in front of her and took the next round of bullets while shouting over his shoulder for her to take cover under the table.

Iskra crawled underneath and reached for Scott's father's loose jacket's collar, dragging him to safety, as he lay helpless on the floor, where Loki had pushed him when the bullets had hit before he had run towards the mind-controlled S.H.I.E.L.D's agent and shoved a dagger hilt-deep into his eye-socket.

From under the table, Iskra watched in terror and odd fascination as Loki was sowing death and utter destruction along his path. It took her a few moments to realize the badly maimed corpses left behind him belonged only to the blue-eyed zombified humans and the aliens. He moved around in a lethal blur as he threw his daggers at multiple targets at once and then savagely pulled them out of throats, chests and abdomens, in a gush of blood and extra-terrestrial slime, tore limbs off and broke necks and spines, all the while hurling glowing balls of angry green energy which seared and blackened everything it touched with a wet hiss and a blinding flash.

After some time, which could have been mere minutes or many hours, the screaming and banging died down and the darkness inside Jekyll and Hyde was complemented by near complete silence, broken only by the uneven heavy breaths of the members of the Resistance and the few innocents caught up in the carnage huddled behind overthrown tables and barricades of broken chairs.

Iskra came out of her hiding place and nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt Loki's hand on her shoulder.

"We have to get out of here. Now."

"The back exit?"

"No, there is no time, they'll be here any minute. I suppose you should have left when you had the chance."

"Then how are we-"

"I'm sorry," he whispered to her ear and placed a soft kiss on her cheek, "there's no other way."

The few remaining lights around her stretched to infinity and once again the velvet blackness of the intradimensional crack enveloped her, this time the hungry taloned arms of the ghouls seething inside it already stretched towards her, ready to rip her apart.


	25. Seeing Is Believing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iskra goes down Loki's memory lane and then things turn rather frosty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My laptop broke and I've been writing this solely on my phone so that's the reason for lack of italics or any paragraph weirdness.  
> Also, a small TW for attempted suicide and self-hatred but we have all kind of seen all that before, not that it makes it any easier.  
> Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 25

                   Seeing Is Believing

 

This time, there was no moment of hesitation. The eyeless, ghoulish inhabitants of the cracks between the worlds set upon her in double time, hungry for her mortal mind, their spindly limbs pulling at her dress, tangling in her hair and feeling up her skin for soft spots and crannies, to invade and violate, their touch as light as spiders' legs, yet bearing down on her as the crushing jaws of a vice.

Her heart beat savagely, struggling to push her blood, thick with raw, ugly terror, as it ripped its way through her insides, shredding them, in a grim premonition of what the demonic entities were intending to do to her. Somewhere in between the earsplitting screeching whose source she realised with horror was her own tightened throat and the ghostly whispers of the living darkness around her, she heard Loki's shouting her name and calling her to him. She felt something cold press against her face, obscuring her vision and the grip around her middle tightened, cutting her breath and thankfully the awful screaming with it. Disoriented, Iskra thrashed and kicked, and clawed at the thing covering her eyes until she felt Loki's breath on her neck and realised it was he who was holding her. She relaxed and let herself lean backwards but instead of her body hitting the hardness of his chest, it simply sank through what felt like a drift of soft snow and she felt herself fall again.

And then she wasn't there anymore. But that couldn't be quite true, she thought, because she was, well, still thinking. Although, the thoughts in her head were not her own. Or at least most of them weren't. It felt like she had been dropped into another person's mind, her own personality quickly dissolving in the cold vastness of it like a drop of ink into a glass of water.  
The fluttery softness around her solidified into reality and she opened her eyes, blinking in confusion at the bright surface in front of her - a wall of glowing white light, behind a dark lattice of squares and arrows. What made her gasp though was the object displayed atop a stone plinth standing before the wall - a big rectangular box made of what looked like transparent stained glass, framed in metal. In it something blue madly swirled and blustered and shimmered, like a miniature thunderstorm, caught and sealed inside a fish tank.  
She felt her lips, which were not her lips anymore, move and she spoke with the voice of the boy from her dream.

"Do the Frost Giants still live?"

"When I'm king I'll hunt them down and slay them all, just as you did, Father!" The other boy - she knew by now - his brother, panted with overexcitement and swayed his arms in the air to highlight his intent on slaughtering the enemy.

Her - no, not "her" anymore - his little legs took him scurrying alongside the majestic figure of their father, striding across the treasure vault and sharing his wisdom with him and his older sibling on peace maintenance and defence policy of the realm. With a heart inexplicably heavy at the joy he had sensed in his brother's voice at the prospect of killing the despicable monsters - the villains of their bedtime stories, he grabbed his father's hand and relished the rare moment of closeness the great old man offered.

"Only one of you can ascend to the throne, but both of you were born to be kings," he heard him say before the world around him scrambled in a mad mixtures of colours and shapes and then rearranged again, hurling him into another dream of a memory.

 

"Prepare for your demise, ice monster! I - a brave knight on my trusty steed, will gallop into battle, run you down and-", the golden-haired boy, his brother - Thor, slightly older now, thrust his wooden sword into him, "-cut you up!". His world momentarily exploded into white blooms of pain and he fell to his knees, clutching at his stomach.

"Die, troll!" 

Thor lifted his makeshift weapon and hit him again and he felt his young self crumble to the floor under the stinging blows the heavy wood delivered onto his back and he lifted his arms up in surrender. Lost in the moment, the other boy did not stop, triumphant smile lighting his fair face up as he lifted his arms to strike at him once more.  
Suddenly, his tormenter shrieked in pain, dropped the sword, and ran away, clutching his hand to his chest. The offending piece of wood landed in the dust next to his face, and both the blade and the hilt made a strange hissing sound on impact. At first glance he thought them to be boiling hot and steaming, but then, at a closer inspection, he concluded that it was in fact the opposite. He found himself admiring the intricate lace of frost that had spread over the wood's surface, turning it silvery and brittle. It was so cold that little ice crystals crept down from underneath it into the dust, creating a web of translucent, sublimating fractals. 

The world swirled again and this time the scenes morphed into one another right before his eyes, like the pages of an open book, blown by a vicious draft and illuminated by a flickering candle in a dark room. He saw himself, a young adolescent boy, jolt up in his big beg, surrounded by cushions and velvety throws, all damp from his cold sweat, in the midst of another nightmare plagued by the ugly frost monsters, breathing heavily and still feeling the hateful, hungry gaze of their fiendish eyes, the colour of blood, and the burning touch of their clawed hands, colder than ice.

Another page - another dream, this time one seeping into his waking hours, a nightmare turning into an obssession. Countless hours spent in the library, pouring over old musty leather bound tomes, reading gruesome tales of war and pillaging, and death, and rape and murder. Looking at the centuries-old dried up indigo ink, spread onto the yellowing pages in the abhorrent outlines of their monstrous forms, towering, angular, horrible: black claws ready to rip, embery eyes ready to burn holes through the paper and right into his quivering soul. 

Then another page, and he saw himself, of age now, wading through a sea of snow, through a barren icy desert under a cloudy sky, closing in on an ancient palace made of sharp black rock and even sharper shards of ice. He had discovered a path through the worlds, a way to travel through the bottomless cracks of reality and had snaked his way into the very heart of the source of his nightmares, the lair of the Jotunnheim's King. He had to see the monsters with his own eyes, to study them, so he could at long last banish them from the dark corners of his chambers at night, if he could not chase them away from the even darker corners of his mind. He found himself hiding behind the frost bitten stone walls and columns, shrouded in his seidr, invisible to the hideous beasts and listening. Watching. Lurking. He found himself somewhat suprised to discover that he could do that for hours on end - the cold didn't seem to harm him or even bother him. But the Frost Giants did, and he hated them. He hated them for making him scared, hated them for giving his brother another excuse to practice his combat skills on him, he loathed them for taking over his thoughts and dreams. Oh, and how ugly they were indeed, how hideous - abominable bulging muscles of steel underneath rough, scarred skin, sharp skull bones shaping their grim faces into permanent expressions of malice and contempt, their pointy teeth - seen only when they growled and snarled at each other and when they sank their fangs down into their gruesome meals, never otherwise because their thin lips never curled into a smile. Crude savage raiments and hardly any armour barely covered their grotesque, beastly physique, showcasing their brute strength and near invincibilty. His whole being tremored with repulsion at the sight and proximity of them, and yet, because he feared them he felt himself drawn to them. 

Another swirl of the book, another turn of the pages and there he was, gloating in the shadows as the Frost Giants stormed into his father's palace's treasure vault on the day of his brother's coronation, erasing that smug smirk off the oaf's face and leaving him without the crown. The crown that he coveted so much, not so much because he longed to rule the kingdom but because having the crown would mean that he was, after all, his brother's equal, it would mean that he was worthy, that he had at long last won the Allfather's pride. His Father's pride.

Another turn and unwillingly, he found himself following Thor and his group of dimwitted bodyguards-friends through the iridescent Bifrost bridge and into an ill-thought quest of revenge on the monsters, guilt gnawing at his spleen, foreboding eating through his gut, because he was afraid that had he refused to join them, they might have guessed, and quite rightly so, that he had been the one to let the beasts loose on Asgard in the first place.

Then a violent swirl and an agry gale roaring around him and he saw himself in the midst of a losing battle with the Frost Giants, his boorish brother waving Mjoinir around in an orgasmic abandon, a stupid grin plastered on his face, but he knew better, he knew that they were doomed, having studied the monsters from inside for so long. They would overpower them and rip them to pieces and then feast on their steaming remains. He felt himself shudder as he threw his daggers around, and resolved to magic, deceiving a Jotunn bounding towards him into plunging to its own death.  
"Don't let them touch you!" he heard Volstagg's voice boom but it was too late - his heart stopped when another revolting creature suddenly grabbed his arm. He saw himself look down at his disintegrating armour and expected to see his arm frost-burnt into a black mess, his flesh seared and peeling away in excrutiating agony. But instead, he felt only an odd tingle and his eyes widened in incredulity and horror at the sight of his skin turning the same colour and texture as the monster's own. He felt his muscles contract at the effort as he erased the surprise, and the life, from the red eyes of his adversary with a feral thrust of his dagger and then stared wildly at his blue arm, the colour now ebbing away, his black nails the last to go, slowly turning back to pink as his mind clutched to sanity, afraid it might shatter into a million bits were he to let go. What was happening? Had he been cursed? Was he dreaming? Was this just a trick of his poisoned mind and inflamed imagination? Or was his worst nightmare finally coming to life - the one where he would wake up screaming after catching a glipse of red eyes glaring back at him from the mirror? Was he turning into one of them? Was he turning into a monster?

Then a rather soft swirl of the world brought him further down the path of his painful memories and he felt his whole being suddenly fill up with fear, numbing rage and boiling disgust, like an absess ready to burst, pushing at the seams of his mind, seeping through the pores of his prickled skin just as he saw it return back to its normal colour under the scrutinising gaze of his father.  
"Laufy's son," he heard the old king say and he felt his world crumble to dust. He felt it shatter like the thin ice on the surface of a toxic lake. So it was worse. He hadn't suddenly turned into a monster. He had been a monster all his life. Born one.

"TELL MEEE!" he heard his own voice break as his lungs burned with blazing anger, with a lash of freezing cold winter air coming from his own shattered soul.  
His father, no, he found himself shake his head incredulously, not his father anymore - Odin - then slumped to the floor, eyes rolling back in his head, going into Odinsleep, leaving him with no answers to fill the gaping black hole in his heart. He reached for the king's helpless form at his feet, for an instant bent on ensuring his traitor non-father never woke up, then a whirpool of guilt, shame, self-hatred, and deep, entrenched, exhausting, excruciating pain shook him to the core and he felt his trembling hands retreat and he heard himself shout for help instead.

The pages turned again and he found himself looking at his non-Father's still body, wrapped inside the golden light of one of the Soul Forge healing chambers, his other father - the true one, the monstrous one, the Jotunn king crouching above the sleeping Odin, ready to plunge an ice blade into his heart. He felt his fingers tightly wrap around the golden shaft of Gungnir, the royal weapon, signifying and cementing his power as the new Asgardian king, however short-lived it might be. He saw himself point the golden spear at his birth sire and an electric surge of intoxicating power ran through his veins as the spear released a bolt of energy. Laufey fell to the ground and he slowly walked over to where the monster lay, making sure he held his wide open red eyes firmly with his. 

"How much does it hurt?" he wanted to ask him, "To be betrayed by your own blood? Do you feel cheated? Like I felt cheated when you betrayed me and discarded me, unwanted, abandoned as a helpless babe to die, left at the mercy of the elements and the beasts and the enemy? The enemy who took me, to toy with me, to use me, to feed me lies?!" 

The words fought a merciless, ugly battle to push through his sealed lips and gritted teeth but he swallowed them, together with the bile they were swimming in and he raised Gungnir again and shot at his father instead, this time annihilating the monster from existence. And then his mind cleared and it dawned on him - he was going to kill them all. Destroy every single one of them, erase them from the Nine Realms and from his nightmares, wash them away like the bad taste in his mouth, drown his anguish in their blood. He was going to slaughter them all, just as his brother would, just as his non-father should have, and then there would be peace. And then he would find peace. He would be worthy. A hero, at last. The destroyer of monsters. The true king. The saviour of Asgard. He saw himself look at the dark stain on the floor that used to be the being who had brought him into this world and then sentenced him to death for having not been born perfect and tried to steady his shaking hands. 

"You should have made sure I was dead, Father," he spat and clenched his teeth, and bit his tongue and the blood in his mouth tasted bitter, acrid, and cold, oh so very cold, colder than his hollow heart made of ice.

Another strong gush of wind, and now he was standing, no, hanging above the giant hungry maw of empty space below his feet. Holding on for dear life with a sweaty hand to the shaft of the weapon he had just used to kill his true father. Above him, from the iridescent remains of the shattered glass bridge, peeked the arrogant face of his fake father, glowing with rejuvenated power and resplendent in his regal battle armour, having just risen from his comatose slumber just in time to catch Thor, as they were both falling. His wretched brother had destroyed the Bifrost, thwarting his attempt at destroying the Frost Giants' realm and in doing so causing them both to be violently hurled towards the gaping nothingness that lay underneath.  
He saw the omnipotent Allfather's wrinkled hand around Thor's ankle, holding him in a steel grip, while in his turn his dangling brother held Gungnir - which he found himself clutching at as a drowning man would do at a straw. For a brief moment he was convinced that his brother would simply let go, and why wouldn't he after everything he had done, but the burly oath scrunched up his brows in exersion and kept on holding tight.  
He felt himself take a deep breath and winced, and his eyes watered, rendering both offending members of his so called family blurry - his chest burnt in white agony, his ribs having been crushed by the immense weight of his unworthiness when Thor had immobilised him with the hammer. His heart raced wildly at the face of the ultimate failure of being dethroned by his brother and the humiliation of the brute now literally holding his life in his hands. He felt the hungry pull of the emptiness beneath him and found himself strangely resigned at the prospect of the cold embrace of the abyss below.  
Was his life truly to end like that? Yet, he wouldn't beg the old fool for forgiveness, he wouldn't apologize for what he had done, for what he had become, for what he was. For what his non-father's lies and false promises of recognition and grandeur had turned him into. He had been so close to proving himself worthy, to winning the old man's pride. Perhaps Odin would at last, in this fateful moment, notice his full potential, he heard himself think, perhaps Odin would finally accept him as a true son, as Thor's equal, and see his strength, his determination, his worth, his wits, and praise him for what he had tried to achieve because the wise old king of Asgard knew without a doubt that a man could not have killed the monsters of the world without becoming one himself.

"I could have done it, Father! I could have done it!" 

The words left razor blade cuts in his damaged lungs but a lonely flicker of light in the sole eye of the king gazing down at him made him lift the corners of his mouth into a bleak smile of hope.

"For you! For all of us!"

"No, Loki."

The light was gone, as if it had never been there, and the hope drained out of him, swallowed by the darkness. There was no acknowledgement in the Allfather's voice. No warmth. No love. No anger. No accusation. No contempt. No plea for him to stay alive. Nothing but apathy, and a mild irritation perhaps for being woken up, whispered through smug, indifferent lips. Nothing more. Nothing less. Nothing.

He was nothing. Worthless. Unimportant. A miniscule obstacle. A bothersome pest. Abandoned by one father, despised by the next. A forgotten relic, no longer relevant, obscured by his brother's shadow and buried in the dust. He thought of her kind face then, of her golden curls, of her warmth, of her kindness. He had failed her too. What would she say if she saw him like this? Defeated. Reduced to tears of self-pity and regret. Reduced to nothing.  
But "nothing" was good. "Nothing" would stop the pain and silence the ugly voice dripping poison in his head. "Nothing" would blunt the blades of his conscience stabbing at his sore mind. "Nothing" wouldn't comfort him but it wouldn't hurt him either. There was nothing to win in "nothing" but also nothing to lose. And having lost so much already, he couldn't bear any more hurt.  
So he let go.

 

Something tugged at the ragged edges of her mind and pulled her out of the void. Iskra knew she was awake before she was able to open her eyes. Still paralysed by the grip of sleep she tried to pinpoint the source of the discord, the reason she had so abruptly come back to consciousness. It was noise, no, not just noise but voices, getting louder at that. One threatening, crushing and cold like the depths of the ocean, the other - viperous, velvety and mockingly sweet, like sugar laced with poison; both deadly.

"Remind me again, why would you attack the Resistance behind my back?"

"A tight window of opportunity opened up and you were not here to give the order, Your Majesty."

"Your lust for your own kind's blood will never cease to astonish me."

"Why does it bother you anyway? Aren't we trying to crush them and show your subjects you mean business?"

"You are aware that I have been trying to resolve the situation without further bloodshed?"

Iskra managed to open her eyes just in time to see the Black Widow throw her head back and laugh bitterly.

"Without further bloodshed? Are you having a laugh? Your minions razed a whole town to the ground and turned it into dust!!"

"Exactly. Let's not give them a reason to raze another," Loki's voice was as cold as the abyss Iskra had fallen into in her sleep.

He took a step towards the leather-clad woman and she took a small step back towards the door behind her but the defiant look on her pretty face never faltered, a menacing glare in her frosty blue eyes.

"Whoever helped the Resistance did just that," she hissed at him.

"What makes you think they had help?"

"Well, they somehow managed to neutralise a small squadron of Chitauri and my assault team! And I presume you have seen the aftermath. No? By the time my second team arrived all the rebels were gone, leaving carnage and destruction behind: dismembered bodies everywhere - human and alien, singed furniture, the whole place nearly destroyed. It must have been either a group of Chitauri dissidents, or one of your people."

"What are you implying?"

"Is it possible your brother Thor has somehow-"

"Do not mention my worthless brother's name unless you aspire to be the next in line for execution as a traitor to the crown! The Bifrost is broken, I am the only one from Asgard capable of travelling between the realms!"

Iskra threw her eyelids shut. As much as she hated the Russian agent, Natasha was smart. She had to give her that. And she clearly knew all about Loki's inferiority complex when it came to his older sibling. And how to use it.  
A loud gasp from the woman-in-black's lips took Iskra right out of her speculations and she opened her eyes to the anticipated sight of the king's fingers clasped tight around the redhead's throat.

"Why would I attack my own soldiers? Why would I defend the enemy?"

He had to ease up his grip on her neck to let her speak and Romanoff's voice came out as a barely audible whisper in stark contrast to his earlier growl, "Of course, you wouldn't...Your Majesty."

"Now go and pass that on to your Chitauri overlords. And put all that cunning craftiness of yours to good use to convince them it's true. Because what do your people like to say regarding bearers of ill news, oh yes, "Don't shoot the messenger"? Well, I have heard that my otherworldly army uphold the opposite belief."

He let go of her at once and turned away, and she stumbled back, rubbing at her throat. The door behind her hissed open and the Widow halfway stepped over the threshold, then steadied herself and called out to Loki, raising her voice as much as her bruised pharynx allowed for.

"It's her, isn't it?" Natasha nodded towards where Iskra was lying, motionless on the bed, pretending to be asleep. "If I didn't know you better, I'd say she has made you soft." She winked at him. "But we both know that's near to impossible. And it would highly displease the one you answer to."

"I answer to no one!" 

In a split second Loki was back at the door, his face a mask of murderous contempt. Natasha smirked and to Iskra's silent shock reached out to pat him on the shoulder.

"We all answer to someone, God of Lies, Your Majesty. That being said, your guileless hetaera over there looks worse for wear, are you sure it's not time you looked for another fuck toy? I could help you dispose of the damaged goods. Discreetly, as always."

Before Iskra could quite grasp the insult in the S.H.I.E.L.D's agent words and long before she managed to quietly swallow it, Loki had grabbed Romanoff's condescending hand off his shoulder, spun her around, and now held her tight against his chest, her arm bent at an awkward, painful angle, his dagger glistening underneath her haughty chin.

"You'd be wise not to overstep the mark again or the name on your next ledger will be etched in stone instead of leather."

"You won't kill me. You need me."

"Yes, I need you. Now. But "now" is a precarious moment in time and easily slips away. And when I no longer deem your service of any use or merit, I will make your worst nightmare come to life, and then, after you've begged me for mercy on your knees I will have you perish by the hand of the only person that you have ever trusted or cared about in this world, before I kill him too."

\------

 

Soon after she deemed it safe enough to approach Loki without getting incinerated by the fallout of his wrath, Iskra pulled herself up to a sitting position, vaguely frowning at the red patches on her pillow and rubbing tentatively at the bridge of her nose. She was going to get burned anyway and she knew it, but touching the stove top was a vastly different experience to setting oneself on fire. And since the Black Widow had left mostly unscathed, save for her bruised pride and neck, Iskra knew that Loki would need to find another outlet for the tempestuous rage thundering inside him. Refusing to dwell on whether he had made the right decision - despite the Russian spy's threats Iskra still felt that it was wrong to lust after another's death, especially in a world where life was proving increasingly cheap. And she simply didn't think she could bear to witness any more blood being spilled in one night, specifically in such close proximity to her person, and most importantly by the hands of the man who also used said skillful hands and other adept parts of his exceedingly lethal body to bring her to earth-shattering orgasms, and even more disturbingly - to sometimes caress her with the gentle touch of a doting lover. 

She stumbled off the bed and teetered over to where he sat on the sofa, seemingly calm, like the eye of a colossal storm and impassively staring at something indistinct at the far end of the room. Or the far end of the world, for all she knew. Iskra plopped herself ungracefully next to him, trying hard to suppress a sudden urge to be sick, and hovered her shaking, bloodstained hand over his shoulder. The king didn't acknowledge her presence, his face - set still in bitter rumination, and his eyes glazed with despondency and yet, burning with rancour, never turned her way.

She moved her hand away. What was there to say? 

"Don't beat yourself up. You did the-"

He turned to face her then and held a finger to her dry lips, "I wouldn't if I were you."

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"As a matter of fact, there is. Release me of your presence. And go bathe. You do look and smell appalling."

Iskra stood up and quietly walked away, briefly considering to violently slam the bathroom door behind her but eventually resolving to a small, just-breaking-the-level-of-politeness bang, overcome by a sudden surge of wimpishness which she convinced herself was the voice of reason.

When she came out an hour later, he was gone. She found an assortment of sandwiches and fruit on the table, a can of her favourite energy drink, the Viper blade and her clothes draped over the chair. Her real clothes. Or at least something that closely resembled them. On closer inspection she concluded that they were very much like the blue jeans, fitted white top and pink blazer she had worn on the way to work on the fateful night when Loki had first appeared in her life, yet something about them was slightly off - as if they had been sewn up to mimic the memory of her own clothes. So no wonder he had got a few little details wrong, she thought, after all, she had the opposite of what people called photographic memory.

She ate the food, and drank her drink, while spinning the little gold and silver switchblade over the shiny red wood surface of the table but could not make herself touch the clothes.

\------

Iskra woke up to the sound of Somewhere Over The Rainbow and the rolling end credits of the film she had been watching, and found Loki sitting next to her on the sofa.

"That was deeply unsatisfying," he nodded towards the screen. "She barely knew the man from the coffee shop."

"I agree," she lay her head on his chest, and inhaled the heady scent of his leathers mixed with his own personal smell of ozone and cold winter days. "It's still my favourite film though."

"How can it be your favourite film if you don't like the way it ends?"

"I just pretend it ends differently."

Loki did not seem satisfied with her answer. 

"And what happened to her father? Did she simply leave his dead body in the park and go dancing?" 

Iskra snickered at his unexpected display of interest in Anthony Hopkins' on-screen character and Loki shrugged, frowning,  
"He's a dead ringer for someone I know."

The memory of his memories flooded her mind and Iskra shivered, pulling the fleece blanket tighter around her naked form.

"I thought you'd be happy to have your clothes back."

"I...I was afraid to put them on. It felt too much like...like..."

She wanted to say "like saying goodbye" but couldn't make herself utter the words either. Everything was going to go awry, she knew it. She had no idea what to expect of him now. But she felt a piercing pang in her chest at the thought that he might send her away. And yes, things hadn't exactly been sunshine and cocktails at the beach so far but ever since Loki's surprise decision to save the rebels Iskra was being plagued by a heavy sense of doom, amplified by this newfound glint of madness in his eyes, presently examining her with surgical precision.

"Did you think I was going to let you go?" he chuckled.

"I'm not sure what I was thinking."

He reached for her waist, lifted her up with ease, letting the blanket fall to the floor and positioned her over his lap so she could straddle him. The feeling of his muscly thighs, straining under the taut leather, sent an almost painful jolt of arousal through her belly and she squirmed in his arms, struggling to keep her breathing steady.

"You are not going anywhere, my darling little slave-girl, especially not now," he gently stroked her cheek with the back of his index finger. "The Hungry Ones nearly made a meal out of your mind on our journey back to the tower. I thought I'd lose you," he paused to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, "and I didn't like how that felt."

"Is that why you gave me that dream? To keep me safe from them?"

"It wasn't a dream. I pulled your mind into mine. I didn't intend on showing you anything this time though."

He looked away, a painful expression marring his beautiful face. It was clear he was going through some sort of internal battle which he then lost, judging by the strain in his gaze and the tremble in his voice when he turned back to her, "What did you see?"

Iskra hesitated.

"I saw your father when he said that you were born to be king, I saw your brother being mean to you, and his failed coronation, and I...I saw you...fall from the bridge..."

Her eyes watered not because of how hard he gripped her sides and the agonising way his fingers dug into her skin but because of the way he stared at her, burning holes at the back of her skull, scorching her soul. His lips barely moved and his voice was a ghostly whisper that made her hairs stand up and her mouth go dry, "What else?" 

"I saw...you...and them...the ice monsters-"

Before she could finish Loki shoved her off his lap and stood up, striding away and madly running his hands through his hair.  
She jumped at the sound of banging and crashing and breaking glass and looked up to where he stood at the other end of the room, having just reduced Tony's prized cherry-wood table to a pile of kindlings.

The voice in her head shouted "Run!" and then "Play dead!" after the quick realisation that there was no where to run or hide but Iskra ignored it, together with her suddenly numb legs and jellified knees, and she forced herself to slowly walk up to him.

"I want to see you as you are."

"You want to see me as a monster? As one of the hideous creatures you saw in my head? Why?! To laugh, to mock? Or worse - to pity? I tell you know, you will regret this, no, you will lament this, bitterly, woefully, dolorously for I will-"

She was nowhere near as brave as the Black Widow to try to touch him when he was like this, let alone pat his arm even if her gesture would have been as furthest away from condescension as possible, but she was reckless enough to interrupt his self-loathing tirade.

"You are right, they were hideous. But I saw them through your eyes. And now I want to see them with my own."

Loki took a step forward with a stroppy flick of his long hair, lifted his chin defiantly and gave her a grin that chilled her blood, and the air all around her.

"Fine."

He snapped his fingers angrily and they were engulfed in darkness. With not a single light left on in Tony's den, Iskra gasped when she could no longer discern if her eyes were open or closed. It painfully reminded her of the Darkness between the worlds, the one that was more than just the absence of light.

"Oh God, I hate the dark! Is this really necessary?"

"It's not the dark you should hate but the things that lurk in it."

His voice came out somehow deeper, lower and unnaturally cold, in both meanings of the word. It came from very close, probably not more than a couple of feet away from her, yet it could have been miles. There was also a sharp edge to it that made her shudder.

"As I said, you will regret this, you witless, obstinate, insufferable woman. Are you afraid?"

"N-n-no," her teeth chattered.

"You sound terrified."

"Goddamnit, I'm-m-m n-n-ot afraid!" she shivered again, her trembling jaw making it nearly impossible to produce coherent speech, "I'm-m-m just s-so f-f-f-fucking cold!"

There was a heavy moment of silence between them and then she swore she heard him grunt with amusement before a sudden waft of air and a faint glimmer of green in the darkness startled her, then the bone-crushing iciness around her dissipated leaving the atmosphere still cold but bearable.

"Thank you." 

She took a small, blind step towards where she thought he stood.

He huffed in response.

"May I touch you?"

"If you must."

Iskra reached out in the darkness but paused half-way, her arm hanging in the nothingness, overcome with fear of what her trembling fingers might actually bump into. She took a deep breath, composed herself and pushed it forward, her open hand colliding with something cold and very hard, his chest, she assumed. Naked chest, she judged quickly. There were multiple ridges across his otherwise smooth skin and at first Iskra thought they must be scars. But as she kept sliding her hand slowly up and down his pectorals she discovered there was a certain pattern to them. They swirled around and levelled out and then swirled again forming spirals and fractals.  
Startled by the sudden dancing stars in front of her non-seeing eyes, she realized she had been holding her breath and breathed in sharply. He must have been in a similar predicament because he quickly followed in by taking in a sharp breath himself, and his chest rose up and down underneath her fingers.  
Iskra inched closer to him, still shaking slightly, her skin all prickled up all both from the cold emanating from his lungs as they now breathed in unison, but also in eager anticipation.  
She traced his arms, his waist and as much of his back as she could reach, following the curious whorls, grooves and elevations that painted intricate motifs on his skin - it wasn't just the texture of it that felt different, his whole body felt unfamiliar too - more muscular, more rugged, bigger. And he smelled less like a summer storm and more like a blizzard.

Iskra lifted her hands and slowly caressed the outlines of his face. She couldn't quite tell if his features were strikingly different or mostly the same to what her eyes were used seeing in his face up until then but she was relieved to find out that they felt decidedly human, despite the array of symmetrical markings. She pushed her fingertips into the hollow of his cheeks but they didn't give in, not even a millimetre. Next, she traced his lips - thin as before but much harder, and when he parted them for her, she got to take a quick brush of his teeth, which felt much sharper than they should. She gasped and moved her fingers up the ridges of his brows, more raised lines there, thin and curving, in place of the little hairs she expected. She caressed them gently and moved down, letting her fingertips hover above his eyes - despite the abscence of eyelashes his eyelids fluttered at her oncoming touch and closed down so she could trace their shape.

"Your hair feels the same," Iskra smiled in the dark when at last she buried her hands in the comfort of the familiar thick wavy strands of silk.

"Frost Giants have no hair," Loki murmured. "It's a conscious effort on my part to keep it there whenever I revert to this form. Muspelheim will freeze over before I part with my hair," he paused and then added, "I'm rather fond of it."

"I've noticed," she chuckled and gently ruffled his locks with her fingers.

"Are you laughing at me?" 

"I wouldn't dare."

"You do realise that I can see you grinning in the dark, do you not?"

Iskra felt his arms tentatively wrap around her middle and she snuggled against him, placing a finger on his lips and following their upward curve with a matching smile of her own.

Next she allowed her hands to move further down his waist - and yes, he was decidedly naked there too - and then further south of his belly button. She felt more spirals and smooth ridges where his pubic hair should have been, continuing all the way down to the tip of his penis, which was also like everything else, alarmingly bigger than before, even in its flacid state. As her fingers curled around his shaft, she heard him groan and the cold, ribbed skin immediately stiffened under her touch.  
Loki grabbed her hand and took it away from his cock, but he kept his body close to hers and then pulled her in even closer, having her hips nestle snuggly against his thighs so she could feel his growing erection press hard against her abdomen.

"No, we can't," he said sternly, squeezing her fingers tightly in his hand, "I will most likely injure you beyond repair, or even kill you. I don't trust myself like this."

"I trust you."

"You are delusional, you have not yet laid your eyes on me and truly seen the monster that-"

"Let me see you then," she whispered against his neck.

Irritated, he cursed under his breath but she heard the click of his fingers somewhere above her head.  
The lights came on and Iskra was momentarily blinded. She rubbed the stinging sensation off her eyes and slowly opened them to the blue canvas of his skin spread across her field of vision like a deep, crisp summer sky.  
She slowly lifted her head and let out a quiet gasp when her eyes met his - it all made sense then - the glimmers of red she had occasionally seen behind the green, and what she had witnessed the night before in the restaurant's hallway - currently there was no other colour in them but red, even what was meant to be the white of them was crimson. His eyes were two embers - burning, blazing, scorching, but also pleasantly warm, as he studied her face with silent determination, no doubt waiting for her to flinch. 

Iskra didn't flinch, didn't even blink, and she refused to look away and kept holding his gaze until her own eyes teared up with the effort and he lifted his cold hand to her face to gently wipe at her wet eyelashes. 

"Come," she took his hand and tried to pull him but she could have as well tried to pull a house, or a mountain.

"You don't look like the monsters in my dream."

"I know what I look like," he furrowed his brows and gave her a scornful look, his thin blue lips raised in disgust at his own appearance.

"Then I wish you could see what I see."

Loki, still scowling, studied her intensely, clearly unsure of himself, then slowly raised his hands and gently cupped her temples. Iskra exhaled in surprise as a cold wave of what felt like electricity rippled through her skin and she clenched her teeth, suddenly experiencing the biggest brain freeze of her life, and then it felt as if she was dreaming again, and she wasn't simply herself anymore but she was also part of him, and she felt him look both at herself and himself at the same time through two pairs of eyes. The strange double perspective made her head spin, and she lost her balance, and staggered but Loki wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back into his tight embrace. 

"Please, come!" she pleaded with a hushed voice and pulled him again, urging him to follow her towards the bed.

This time Loki let himself be led and they walked the few steps to the edge of Tony's bed in silence. He scooped her up in his arms with the ease of someone lifting up a child's doll and tenderly lay her down on the satin sheets, away from the bloodied pillow.  
He slowly leaned on top of her, his movements cautious and measured, and telling of his being afraid that he would break her, which she thought, was a very legitimate reason for fear, especially when she felt the bed creak and groan beneath his weight.  
A wave of goosebumps swept across her skin and she felt the hairs at the back of her neck stand up again in response to the cold, the panic and the arousal that his body brushing against hers stirred up in her screaming synapses. Without taking his scarlet gaze off her flushed face, Loki carefully took handfuls of her blonde hair and reverently spread them out over the sheets. It took him a few minutes to achieve the desired shape and Iskra relaxed and revelled in the sensation of his icy fingertips while they danced through her locks, occasionally skimming her jawline, the corners of her ears and softly massaging the base of her scalp.  
Next he gently rubbed his cheek against the side of her face, his flowing hair encompassing it like a black, velvet curtain and when their lips met and she tasted his icy tongue in her mouth, he rocked his firm body into hers, accepting, small and warm, beneath him, and she stiffened at the cold hardness of his ribbed length scraping at her thigh. She glanced down and quivered involuntarily when she took a good look at it, for the first time properly registering exactly how much bigger than before he was.

"I am afraid now," she rasped, trying to will her body to relax against the soft, cool sheets and failing miserably while her breathing became more and more erratic. "Please, be gentle!"

Loki's thin blue lips stretched into an all-familiar smile, save for the glistening pointy tips of his teeth, "When have I not been gentle to you, my little slave girl?"

They both chuckled simultaneously, although Iskra's laugh was distinctly more nervous. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down towards her, at odds with all good reason and against all common sense and rubbed her flushed cheeks against his smooth, icy skin, loosing her fingers in the soft silkiness of his black locks, and moaning softly when he licked her neck and rained sharp little kisses along her collar bone.  
Then he bracketed her head with one arm, brushed his frosty thumb against her parched lips and gently kissed the hot, damp skin of her forehead while positioning the tip of his cock at her entrance as she further opened her trembling thighs for him.

He stayed like that for a long time, slowly stroking his thick, swollen head up against her clit and then back down in between her delicate lips, teasing her throbbing entrance and drawing wet circles with her slick, relishing her quivers and moans of anticipation.

Then at once he bucked his hips in a calculated, deliberate thrust, and Iskra dug her fingernails into his shoulders, whimpering softly as his massive blue cock parted her walls, heavy and unrelenting, slowly sinking into her in a wave of sweet pain that quickly turned into not-so-sweet agony as her overstretched channel clenched down around Loki's impossibly hard, ridged shaft.  
He growled into her neck and thrust harder, then stopped and stood still when Iskra's whimper turned into a scream.

"Do you want me to stop?"

She stared at the unnerving depths of his ruby gaze, panting, her glistening eyes open wide, her chest heaving madly. She tried to speak but her throat closed up and she shook her head at him instead, wrapping her arms tighter around his neck and pulling his mouth into hers, kissing him fiercely to distract herself and lovingly stroking the back of his shoulders.  
His next thrust, even though measured and light, made her scream again, and this time left her weeping, and Loki once again stilled, a concerned look on his mesmerising cerulean face. He kissed the beads of moisture trickling out of her eyes and stroked her hair, playing with the strands he had arranged earlier, twirling them between his fingers, as Iskra quietly sobbed beneath him.

"Shhh, my sweet, it's alright now. I won't go any further. Try to relax."

Without pulling out of her, but carefully mindful of his promise, he gently moved them, so that they both lay on their sides, their limbs entwined and their lips less than half a breath apart.  
Iskra stared at her strangely beautiful king, as he took her slowly, gently, completely unbefitting his antagonistic character, let alone his Frost Giant form, especially considering what she had seen in his memories. Loki nibbled her neck tenderly, blew soft kisses on her shoulders, arms and breasts, sucking on her nipples, making them all peaked up and maddeningly but pleasantly sore under his polar tongue.  
Her body slowly adjusted to his size and grew more accustomed to his arctic skin, and he kept kissing her groans and wails away and whispering praise and sweet nonsense to her ears, all the while gently rubbing and stroking her most sensitive spot and along where his shaft disappeared in between her delicate, hot flesh until their thighs and her buttocks and the bedsheets were all obscenely wet with her desire and receptiveness of him. When Iskra at last felt her pelvic muscles flutter and spasm around him, she desperately clung to his heaving chest, feeling the need to lose herself completely to him, to merge her body into his, to flow into him, the way he had done with her mind earlier.  
Loki growled into her neck, riding his own climax out and throwing all caution aside, wildly thrust his spurting cock deeper inside her, but instead of stunning her, the searing pain made her orgasm again and she felt her body shake and judder in perfect harmony with his, and they cried out together, wildly, savagely, arms mindlessly pulling the other one in, as if nothing could pull them apart, ever, as if they were indeed one.


	26. Unfortunate Souls

                  **Chapter Twenty-Six**

                   Unfortunate Souls

 

_"If we weren't living under an alien siege, I could get you arrested, imprisoned and eventually, after many years inside, deported."_

_Iskra stared blankly at the red-haired agent, struggling to fully comprehend the words coming from her smug little mouth. "They', whoever they were, most likely what was left of S.H.E.I.L.D after the invasion, had conducted a thorough search on her life, unearthing no doubt any bit of compromising information they could find. She was in way deeper trouble than she had thought._  
_"Are you trying to blackmail me?"_  
_"Take it as a little bit of research I did in order to understand you better, or take it as you wish. Tell me, you paid your plane ticket and your Green Card with a crime, which had it gone wrong would have cost you your life. You sacrificed everything for one man's love, unrequited love, if I'm correct. Was it worth it?"_

 

      ------Six Years Ago-----

 

 

 

Iskra poured herself another drink and unpaused the DVD she had been watching, finding comfort and gloating at the irony in the familiar words pouring from the screen:

'Have we got a deal?'

'If I become human, I'll never be with my father or sisters again.'

'But you'll have your man.  
Life's full of tough choices, innit?  
Oh, and there is one more thing  
We haven't discussed the subject of payment.'

'But I don't have-'

'I'm not asking much, just a token really, a trifle...'

This was probably the hundred and fiftieth time she had seen the damned film. The last few weeks she'd had it on almost on repeat. She knew all the words, and all the lyrics of all the songs, especially the villain's one. Disney villain songs were one of a kind - so catchy, especially if it felt like the respective villain was singing directly to the viewer and their life choices perfectly matched those of their favourite Disney princess, as was the case with Iskra and the little mermaid. And just like Ariel, Iskra felt she was about to sign a contract that was not only binding to all eternity, unfair and utterly illicit but in lieu of trading her voice to the sea witch for a pair of legs, she was about to swap her soul for essentially what was a thin little rectangle of plastic. Wasn't it funny how the world revolved around little rectangular pieces of paper and plastic - people sold everything they had for them - their time, skills, their body - some plunged into lies, deceipt and violence, and crime in order to acquire the little buggers - some even murder.

'The men up there don't like a lot of blabber  
They think a girl who gossips is a bore'

Well, the similarities mostly ended here however - she did talk a lot, and even though what people liked to call her did rhyme with "bore", she was no princess, and her prince on the other side of the world had already chosen a different bride. Nevertheless, Iskra had decided that she would do anything to go where he was, out of sheer stubborness, or spite, or simply because there was nothing else left for her to do - or to lose - becoming part of his world would at least lift the crushing weight of the ocean of her grief that was surely about to drown her. And anyway, who needed a soul in the land of the free? Iskra, admittedly drunk, laughed at her flimsy attempt at a joke, and took another swig, this time straight from the bottle of vodka she was holding, to douse the growing feeling of dread in her stomach and to fuel her quivering courage, and continued singing the sea witch's song - slurring every other word and completely out of tune but, nonetheless, with all her heart.

 

A few hours later she stared at the plastic Mr Potato Head figurine decorating the marble desk in front of her with utter incredulity. She had expected Fabergé eggs, blue china tea sets, black roses in crystal vases, golden nuggets or whatever other fancy nonsense rich arrogant criminal assholes liked to decorate their desks with but certainly not that.

Then her eyes transfered to the multiple little blue-grey round objects at the front of the desk top - there were at least two dozen of them - and the tall glass of what looked like strawberry milkshake but she was sure as hell wasn't.

"I have been told you possess a certain talent Miss Ognyanova. Please, feel free to demonstrate," the man with the grey quiff of hair behind the desk shamelessly looked her up and down, a lewd smirk stretching his lips.

 She had seen his ruddy face, broad shoulders, miniature eyes and an ever present Adidas tracksuit always at least a size smaller than what he should have been wearing plastered all over the crime pages of all the major newspapers - especially the weekend editions of the tabloids but despite his playful nickname he was known to strike horror in the hearts of those who had the great misfortune to find themselves in his wrong books, or simply in his company. Everyone called him Spirro The Spud, even the authorities, so Iskra squirmed in her chair, desperately trying to remember the man's real name in case she needed to address him properly.

"Do you know who I am, girl?"

"Yes, sir," she swallowed audibly when he leaned over his desk, extending his beefy arm to her, a heavy golden Rolex tightly clasped around his wrist. 

Everyone knew who he was, of course - the head of the mafia, the man rumoured to pull the strings of all the major crime operations in the country, with thick connections in the government, the police and even the church, who was untouchable by the long arm of the law - and when it came to justice it seemed that in his case Themis did not simply wear a blindfold - she was indeed blind.

Staring at the two tall, brawny men in black suits on both sides of him, a gun holster casually poking out from underneath their undone blazers, sunglasses hiding their expressions save for the straight line of their mouths and their clenched jaws, Iskra was reminded of an old television series her grandma had been fond of - La Piovra - about the Sicillian mafia infiltrating all layers of society like the slithery and squirmy tentacles of an octopus. 

_Fitting_ , she mused, still slightly drunk, as she tried to pull her hand away from his unpleasantly sticky and fleshy fingers but he kept on vigourously shaking it seemingly unaware that she hadn't yet agreed to his terms. Or had she? Her sitting face to face with him most likely meant the deal had already been sealed. The Spud wasted no time, only the lives of those who wasted his.

He even looked like the sea witch, except for the eyes, that was - his were as small as a couple of raisins stuck on a spongy pancake. The amusing thought caused a fleeting smile to dance on Iskra's lips before she quickly composed herself and looked down at her handbag lying on the floor between her shoes with sullen intensity.

"What's so funny, girl?"

"N-n-nothing."

"Nothing...?" he squinted at her and tightened the grip of his hand.

"Nothing, Mr-" Iskra hesitated, her eyes darting from the frowning glistening face of the mafia boss in front of her to the stern ones of his two sidekicks, standing silently at his sides, like oversized humanoid guard dogs.

 "What's my name, girl?"

"Uh...mister..uhm..Spud."

The man let go of her hand and burst out in uproarious laughter while his lackeys remained dead silent, glaring at her with contempt (or so she imagined) from underneath their fancy shades.

"And do you know why they call me that?"

She shook her head, then decided to go with the obvious guess.

"Because you like potatoes?"

"Tell the young lady whether I like potatoes," he nodded towards the burly man to his left without taking his gaze off Iskra.

"No, boss, you hate potatoes, boss."

"What happened the last time I got offered chips at a restaurant?" he turned to the man on the right.

"You stabbed the waiter, boss. In the face. With a fork, boss." 

The Spud appeared to beam with pride at the revelation of the grievous bodily harm he had committed over something as trivial as a mixed up food order.

"And why don't I eat potatoes?" He waved his hand impatiently at the guard who straightened up his jacket and continued speaking in a flat tone, not in the slightest bit perturbed at the absurdity of the conversation:

"Potatoes are for the plebs, boss."

"Potatoes are for plebs. And do I look like a pleb to you?" This time around he turned to Iskra, not a smidgen of a smile left on his lips to soften the sharpness in his voice.

Spirro The Spud looked more like an actual potato than a member of the aristocracy but Iskra was sure he would not appreciate that remark so she simply shook her head enthusiastically.

The notorious head of the mafia had been born and raised in a small mountainous village where the majority of people earned their daily bread by growing spuds. He had been sowing, hoeing and sorting tubers since before the time he'd been old enough to speak. She had read about it in the yellow pages once. Rumour had it that his mother had given birth to him out on the potato field, a few rows down from where he had been conceived. Through a lot of hardship, sweat and tears (not his own, it was worth noting: since tender age Spirro had decided that he would be the one to cause tears and not the one to shed them) he had become a national wrestling champion, and after the fall of the communist regime he had opened up his own business - an insurance company and then a potato processing factory as homage to his roots where his natural talent as a salesman had shone bright and far across the country and he had grown to be a successful entrepreneur and a ruthless competition to his rivals. These days, however, he was known to be concentrating more on the sell of other goods - less agricultural, more in the lines of money laundering, extortion, racketeering, trafficking drugs, arms, and of course, people. Iskra knew that her own boss down at the club answered to Spirro, paying him a monthly commission in accordance with the girls' earnings. In a way, he already owned her. 

She could almost envision black tentacles poking out through the seams of his track suit and crawling out from underneath his desk, reaching out for her trembling ankles.

She could just play it silly and tell him she'd made a mistake, apologize and get up and leave and hope that his thugs wouldn't shoot her on the way out. Instead she gingerly picked one of the one small bundles laid in front of her and rolled it between her palms, playing with it - it almost felt like a tiny balloon filled up with flour or fine-grained sand. 

  
How did she I end up sitting opposite the most dangerous man in the country, about to shove down her throat what looked like at least three kilos of drugs. How long had she been falling down the rabbit hole and how come she had only just realised that she had gone completely, totally, frighteningly mad as a box of frogs. No normal person would ever find themselves in a situation like this. And what for? Was it to get money for a dying relative's last clutches at hope for a cure? Was it to help her family with unsurmountable debt? Was it in order to escape a murderous gang of thugs chasing her and her loved ones with a promise of painful death? It might be - if she tried to slink away out of the deal, that was. She shuddered. What about a selfless charitable cause - like curing cancer or ending world hunger?

No, none of that nonsense, of course. It was purely because of her hurt ego. Because she had loved and been rejected, cheated out of her selfish dreams of...what? Walks on the beach while holding hands? A fluffy romance? Everlasting love? She grunted at her own stupidity. _Nothing lasts forever_. Save for the monster hiding underneath the bed of the world, feeding off humanity's fear, pain and grief.   
The world was a cold, bitter place where people were born butt naked, alone and crying and that's exactly how most of them were destined to die one day soon.

She was still a disgrace, though. Nothing excused what she was about to do. She could not fall out of grace any further. She deserved to choke on the soft ball of drugs in her mouth and drop dead. 

_'If you want to cross the bridge, my sweet_  
_You've got the pay the toll_  
_Take a gulp and take a breath_  
_And go ahead and sign the scroll'_

She swallowed it with ease and reached out for the next one, as Ursula's words echoed in her head.

"It's hard to find loyal people these days. And I need someone as loyal as they come for this operation. See, I can offer you a very generous reward but the thing is, there is always someone out there who is willing to pay more. People are so easy to buy these days. Are you?" The Spud eyed her carefully as Iskra continued her grisly meal.

"No, sir, you can count on my loyalty."

 He gave her a lewd smirk, "I hope your loaylty is harder to buy than what's between your legs."

She opened her mouth to speak, her cheeks burning, but he waved his hand to silence her.

"I was informed, however, that you are in search of no monetary payment. Is this true?"

She nodded.

"And why is that? Don't tell me it's love."

"It used to be."

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, huh?"

"All I want is to be somewhere else, sir. This-" she looked around, her throat suddenly tight and tears prickling at her eyes, "this place, this life, it feels like a prison."

The Spud measured her up and down again and for a split second Iskra thought she saw understanding in his cold eyes, then he scoffed and mockingly waved his hand at her.

He then nodded over his shoulder and the man on his left took something out of his inner pocket and passed it on to his boss, who casually flung it towards Iskra, as if throwing out a used handherchief. He rolled his eyes expactantly at her, so she quickly reached forward and picked it up. At first she thought it was a fake identity card with her photograph and details on it but then her eyes fixed on the faint image of the head of the Statue of Liberty in the background. Her lips silently moved in disbelief as she read the words "permanent resident" and she suddenly felt lightheaded, her heart pounding against her chest, making the whole room spin around violently for a moment.

"Oh my God! How did you...You've got it already...But how...Why...Is it real?"

"As real as they get."

The Spud made a beckoning sign and she reluctantly gave the Green Card back.

"But know well that if you betray me, I will find you, and I will kill you, together with your entire plebeian kin - father, mother, sister, brother, uncle, nephew, aunt-in-law and her pet poodle, grandparents and all their farm animals, including the donkey they keep in their shed."

"How do you know about th-" she gulped and couldn't find the strength to speak again.

"When you land at Dulles Airport a man is going to wait for you. He will take you to a motel where you will relinquish the items from your possession and give them to him. You will not speak to him about me or anything you have seen here today, you will not ask him any questions, you will not do anything stupid. Trust me, I will know if you do. After he takes the items and leaves, you will be free to leave and get on with your new life - live the American dream, or whatever the fuck you are going there for."

"Are people going to die because of this?

His oily laughter polluted the air around her.

"If you keep your mouth shut, no more will die than it is necessary, and that includes you. My men will come to you when they're ready and bring the stuff. All you need to do is pack your bags and wait for their call. I never want to see your pretty face again. This is a one off thing. You have been blessed, girl. Don't let me down."

She put a third object in her mouth, winced at the rubbery taste and washed it down with a big sip of the chalky shake. 

When all the balloons were gone, and the glass had been emptied and refilled and then emptied again, Iskra lay back in her chair, one hand over her distended stomach and the other one wiping the sweat off her forehead, and gave the octopus-man a proud smile. 

"See, I told you I can fit them all in."

"I've heard there's a whole array of other things you could fit in," he smirked.

Iskra gulped, uncomfortably fidgeting in her chair. An ominous feeling of dread slowly crept up her spine. Something wasn't right. Ivan, the bouncer at her club had told her that she was the perfect candidate to smuggle The Spud's goods because were she to be stopped at the border and swiped for drugs, her prescription medication would serve as the perfect alibi for why she'd have amphetamines in her system.

Iskra had had only a brief, exploratory walk through the world of illegal drugs and actually considered herself quite uneducated on the matter but it was common knowledge that amphetamines were cheap and easily obtained. Her country did not produce any other drugs except for cannabis but one could grow cannabis anywhere, really, even in their granny's attic with the proper equipment, but there were no poppy fields here, and the climate and altitude were unsuitable for growing coca plants. The country mainly served as a turntable to other destinations, as far as she knew, mostly for heroin and other opioids coming from Afganistan. She looked back at the mafioso, her eyebrows scrunched up in confusion - it did not make any sense - the value of the packages she was about to sneak into America in no way justified the risk to his business and whatever trouble he had gone through in order to obtain a green card in her name.

"This is not actually speed, is it?"

"What do you think it is, icing sugar?" he guffawed but his bead-like eyes stayed cold.

"I mean, it's not just speed?"

"You are not as dumb as you look. That will only work in your detriment."

"If the drugs are only a cover up, what am I really going to smuggle in?"

Spirro's murderous gaze made her shiver and for the umpteenth time in her life she cursed her big mouth.

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

He stood up, walked around his desk and towered over Iskra who was finding it increasingly uncomfortable to stay upright in her chair.

"I was going to make you suck my dick to thank me for helping your sorry ass out of the gutter but this-" he pointed at her swollen stomach and shake stains on the front of her tank top with contempt, "has turned me well off. Now get the fuck out of here before I change my mind."

Iskra scurried out of the The Spud's office as fast as she could without actually running, one of his bodyguards trudging behind her. Half way down the narrow corridor she stopped dead in her tracks, nearly tripping, and turned around.  
"Too late to chicken out now, girl, I'm afraid," the heavy hand of the burly man clamped down on her shoulder.  
"I haven't chickened out," she mumbled apologetically and adding a curse for her scatter-brains, pulled away from the man who had no choice but to follow her back. "I accidentally left my handbag behind."

As it later turned out, her scatter-brains and her blabber-mouth were for once in her life a blessing in disguise, because they ended up saving someone's life, and subsequently her own.

 

............

 

Iskra woke up to the sound of the television. And to another, repetitive, drumming sound - annoying in its perfect rhythm.   
She stretched and quickly got out of bed, surprised at how well she felt, especially after the events of the day before. Loki must have healed whatever consequences her frail body had suffered from their vigourous exchange of passion. And perhaps he had done more than that - there was a strange surge of energy coursing through her usually slack muscles of late. Or was she feeling euphoric for another, less magical and more sinister, reason, like falling in love, for instance? She was afraid to know.

She found him lounging on the sofa, back to his human (Asgardian - she corrected herself) form, clad only in his tight leather trousers, laces neglectfully undone, legs propped up and crossed on the table in front of him. The prominent veins on his elegant feet danced underneath his pale, smooth skin as he slowly curled and uncurled his toes and as he continued incessantly tapping his fingers onto the glass table, his well groomed, glossy nails creating a symphony of rap-taps and click-clacks.

Several upturned plastic bottles, empty blister-packs and a lonely white tablet lay strewn across the table top, next to a thick folder of papers Iskra hadn't seen before.

He had his face turned away from her, and towards the television, hiding behind the cascading mess of onyx curls that was his hair.

She followed his gaze to the shaky video of destruction, smoke and occasional unblurred images of dead bodies scattered on the streets of New York the news channel was streaming. Retaliation at the Resistance's vicious attack on a group of Chitauri soldiers who had been sent to peacefully disperse an illegal gathering of insurgents after curfew hours, the anchor explained and urged the rebels to surrender unless they wanted more civilians to die. And then she had the nerve, no, the glaring audacity to declare any form of aggression towards the king's army or any attempt to resist their lawful policing an act of terrorism. "The Midgardian Kingdom of America does not negotiate with terrorists. We-"

Loki pressed the mute button on the remote control and finally turned away from the TV screen to look at her with a jerk in his straining neck. Iskra eyed him up and down suspiciously as she ran her fingers through her hair. The the sight of his lips, curled up in a devilish grin that did not match his unamused eyes - greener than she had ever seen them before - made her nervous.

"Hello, beautiful," he patted the space next to him on the black leather sofa and fixed his unnerving gaze on her until she let go of the breath she was holding in, absent-mindedly wiped at her eyes, and sat down, sinking into the sensation of his arms tightening around her as he nuzzled her neck.

"You seem tense." 

Pointing out the obvious did not help her relax, on the contrary, she felt her muscles stiffen even further underneath the stinging pressure applied by his cold, skillful fingers on to her shoulders.

 She not only felt tense - she felt terrified. The world was crumbling before her very eyes. Sanity had packed its bags and took an indefinite, unpaid leave, to a place somewhere warm and tropical, presumably where no lobster-like aliens who craved human flesh and god-like men in armour who turned into blue giants at whim resided.

And on top of all that there were her budding feelings for Loki - had anything changed between them since the night before, had their odd relationship graduated to something more than that of an abductor and his victim?

Quite the willing victim at this point, she mused. She had not tried to escape from the restaurant when she'd had the chance - she knew it was due to more than the simple "but he would have found me" or "where was I meant to go anyway". She had helped him by giving him her tablets despite having just learned about his cruel trick that had got them inside the rebels' lair. She had started to not only not mind his sexual advances but to actually accept them with a certain degree of satisfaction, she had started to yearn for his touch. She dreaded the possibility of being sent away or of being replaced (even though so far he had given her no reason to fear the latter) more than the possibility of...what? Being killed? By him? But that was ludicrous - he wouldn't kill her, not now, not after he had protected her, not after she had started to trust him and he had started to trust her. He had shielded her from the bullets someone had fired her way. He had saved her by the ghoulish fiends hiding in the darkness of space. He had shown care and affection when he'd taken her in his Frost Giant form. He had laughed with her.

But also, she couldn't help but worry, he had shown her too much of his vulnerability. She had inadvertently witnessed his innermost thoughts and fears. That could not be good. She knew he wouldn't just let that go without drawing even first.

And going back to the killing business - it seemed there were a lot of other people out there who wanted her dead - and considering the alien invasion, S.H.I.E.L.D having gone rogue and the civil war that was more than likely about to ensue, the safest place for her to be in this moment in time was exactly where she was now - in her abductor's arms.

Iskra closed her eyes and relaxed under his touch, as he moved on from massaging her back to kneading at her breasts, diving into the memories of the night before, of how beautifully blue Loki's icy skin had been and how she had stared lovingly into the depths of his crimson eyes. Eyes that should have made her recoil in terror but instead she had found herself mesmerised and enchanted by, as he had played with her hair and gently thrust into her, as he had kissed her passionately and made love to her.

Just as he was kissing her now. 

She tightened her thighs around his hand, trying to squeeze his fingers out when he drove them impatiently between her folds.

"Are you trying to deny me what rightfully belongs to me, pet?"

"N-n-ouch!" she shrieked when he sank his teeth down the thin skin above her collarbone.

"I know you are not sore," Loki smirked, his eyes twinkling, then pushed her down and straddled her as she squirmed around underneath him, "I made sure you are all fine and fit for me today, so I can fuck you raw again."

She pushed against his chest half-playfully, half-meaning it and frowned at him in a mixture of amusement and shock.

"Sweet Jesus, how many did you take? You shouldn't do that, you know - you are going to give yourself a heart attack or something and leave me here t-"

He placed one hand over her mouth and grinned, while using the other one to further undo the front of his pants.

"Cease your blabbering and suck my cock!"

He took his hand off her mouth and grasped her hair, pulling her head back so it tilted over and down the edge of the sofa and then moved forward, pinning her naked shoulders down on both sides with his lean, hard thighs. Iskra knew it was futile to resist him, especially in the state he was in, so she simlply parted her lips and took him in her mouth without making any fuss. He growled and tightened his grip on her hair, the tip of his cock bludgeoning the back of her throat as he thrust his hips at her face in a wild frenzy. She grabbed his legs to steady herself and dug her nails into the taut leather of his trousers, the smell of it combined with his own scent sending her senses into overdrive and making her core tighten with near painful arousal and anticipation.

Surprisingly she did not feel frightened at his little display of brute force or at the savagery with which he was handling her, on the contrary - a weird feeling of exhilaration took over her body and as if from afar she felt her hips roll in tune with his movements, and her throat let out a guttural, lustful hum, reverberating and clenching around Loki's shaft as he fucked into her and as she struggled not to gag at the scope of his thickness.

He moaned - a drawn out, sinful sound that made her spine tingle, and she knew he was close. She let her hands wander up and down his thighs, gently stroking the leather and then forcefully grabbed his ass, holding him tight against her burning, tear-stained face and after a few more brutal jolts she felt his cock throb deep inside her and the familiar coldness of his cum flooded her chafed throat.

 Cupping the back of her neck, Loki pulled her head up toward his lap where he held her in place until he made sure there was nothing else left for her to swallow, then carefully pulled out of her, got off her, and bent down to cradle her face against his chest, whispering words of praise in her ear.

Iskra's heart was still racing as she leant on him, breathing deeply, trying to calm herself down and replenish her system with the much needed oxygen his dick had cut off from her lungs. She whimpered with annoyance when all of a sudden Loki curtly pushed her away from him, pulled her up into a sitting position and instead lay down on the settee himself just when she thought their little escapade had finished. He gave her a sly smirk and licked his lips, mischief sparkling in his emerald eyes like dancing specks of sun flare across the bottom of a clear pool.

She wiped her chin and her bruised lips and raised an eyebrow at him, not sure at first what exactly he wanted her to do next. He wiggled a bit and pushed himself slightly up the sofa as if to get more comfortable, then he beckoned her before crossing his arms behind his head in a display of casual relaxation, the playful grin never once leaving his expression.

_Oh! That's what he wants_.

"I...I don't think...I-aah!" She yelped in surprise when he sprang back up , grabbed her and in one single swift move had her sitting up on his chest, her hot centre inches away from his smug face.

She froze, staring at him in apprehension and mistrust, suddenly uncomfortably aware of how obscenely wet she was.

"Are you sure you-" Loki didn't wait for her to finish, he simply slid his palms underneath the top end of her thighs, hoisted her up and next thing she knew his mouth was on her slit, his tongue probing and lapping at her dripping folds, his lips latching on to her clit.

A wave of self-consciousness washed over her and dulled down her pleasure - she hadn't done this before - neither in her professional, nor in her personal life - and certainly had never thought she would enjoy it. She looked down at his cheeks, glistening with her arousal, worried that she'd see him scrunch up his face in disgust or struggle to take her weight or perhaps even breathe but all she saw were his closed eyes and blissfully relaxed features as he licked and kissed and drank from her, relishing her taste, humming and groaning in delight.

She stroked his face affectionately and buried her hands in his hair, at first simply combing through the black silky strands, then pulling at them - first gently, then in a manner similar to how he had pulled hers earlier. It only spurred him on, it seemed, and, his fingers sank into her hips, pulling her even closer to him, letting himself go wild on her throbbing core as she squirmed and quivered against the merciless onslaught of his cool tongue. She heard herself scream profanities as she came, head thrown back, arching her back, limbs shaking - completely lost to the world, the only thing that held her tethered to reality by a thin thread was Loki's touch - his hands around her waist, holding her in a gentle cuddle. She opened her eyes and found herself sitting on his chest again - a few short moments from when she had climaxed seemed to be missing from her memory - had she momentarily blacked out? She stared at Loki's beautiful face down below - he was smiling at her, both with his lips, still moistened with her slick and with his impish jade eyes. She felt the overwhelming need to kiss him and bent down but lost her balance and landed awkwardly on top of him with a thump.

"I can't feel my legs," she laughed and his smile became broader, his arms held her tighter and he brought his mouth up to nuzzle her neck and then her jaw line, before planting a gentle peck on her lips.

"Your sweet cunt reminds me of once tasting the morning dew trickling down the petals of the most tender honeysuckle flower that grows in the gardens of Asgard."

Iskra laughed again, and patted his shoulder soothingly, highly amused at the absurdity of his unexpected and uncharacteristic desire to be poetic and decided to have a go at it herself before he came down from his high:

"Your dick reminds me of..." she paused looking for the right simile to use and burst into a fit of mad giggles at the image her mind had conjured up, "once getting a huge dollop of Chunky Monkey ice scream stuck in my throat."

They both started laughing uncontrollably then until Iskra's tortured throat gave out with a hoarse cough and she nestled her head into the crook of his neck, sighing with content as he twirled his fingers through her tousled hair.

"Lie here with me for a bit, my sweet," he crooned in her ear and Iskra's heart swelled with an overpowering, profound feeling of happiness at the warmth in his voice, and without thinking twice she quickly turned to him and whispered back, gazing lovingly into his eyes:

"I can lie here with you until the end of the world."

A shadow past over his face at her words and just like that the magic was lost. He urged her up and they both sat against the back rest of Tony's black leather sofa, quiet and deflated, a bitter feeling of unease coursing through Iskra's veins.

"Did I say something wrong?"

Loki shook his head at her, a loose strand of hair, falling over his eyes. Iskra reached out and tucked it behind his ear, a sense of reversed deja vu curling the corners of her lips up in a faint smile: usually he was the one to doing that to her.

"What troubles you, Your Grace?"

It was the most nonsensical, utterly pointless thing to ask him, really. What did not trouble him? In the last few days things had gone from bad to worse excessively fast - and he did seem to carry the world on his shoulders. Her world, among other ones, too.

"Whatever you do, do not try to touch this one."

He flicked his wrist while she frowned at his cryptic statement, and with a wet, popping sound an object appeared out of thin air - a glowing blue cube - resting menacingly on the palm of his hand. The atmosphere in Tony's den suddenly felt threatening and hostile and the eerie blue light emanating from the cube's swirling insides made her eyes water at its intense, ominous glow, sending a jolt of stabbing pain through her ringing head. It reminded her of the object she had seen in Loki's memories but she knew it wasn't it and she rubbed at her stinging eyes, unable to avert her gaze not because it held a supernatural power over her will but because she felt it was about to pounce on her were she to look away from it  - whatever it was it possessed an indisputable presence - it no longer felt they were the only people in the room. It felt as if the cube was aware that she was watching it and thinking about it and it didn't like that so it retaliated with vicious fervour. Every single square inch of Iskra's skin erupted in goosebumps and she clung to Loki and buried her face in his chest, eyeing the object fearfully through the corner of her eyes.

"What is this?" Her voice was small and scared, like that of a little child having to learn an unwelcome and disturbing truth about the adult world for the very first time. His was no different:

"My doom."


End file.
